Chapter 29 - The Last Door I Had to Open
A year after Malcolm Reeve was sentenced to sixty-eight years in federal prison, I received one final letter connected to Grant Sterling.
It came from the warden at ADX Florence.
Grant was dying.
Pancreatic cancer.
Advanced.
Months, perhaps weeks.
He requested to see me.
I threw the letter away.
Then retrieved it from the trash ten minutes later.
Thomas found me staring at it.
“You don’t have to go.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to?”
“No.”
“Then why are you thinking about it?”
I looked toward the ocean.
“Because I don’t want my last memory of him to be fear.”
“Whose fear?”
I understood the question.
Mine.
I went.
Grant was transferred under guard to a secure medical unit.
He looked almost unrecognizable.
Thin.
Gray.
Fragile.
The man who once terrified boardrooms could barely lift a cup.
When he saw me, he smiled weakly.
“You came.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“I figured.”
I sat several feet away.
Grant studied me.
“You look happy.”
“I am.”
That seemed to hurt him.
“Someone else?”
“Yes.”
He looked away.
“Of course.”
We sat quietly.
Then Grant whispered, “I’m sorry.”
I felt nothing.
No relief.
No rage.
Just distance.
“For what?”
He looked surprised.
“Everything.”
“That’s a convenient word.”
“I killed your father.”
“Yes.”
“I framed you.”
“Yes.”
“I cheated on you.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted your money.”
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
“I loved you too.”
“No.”
He flinched.
“You loved what being married to me gave you.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Grant, we are far beyond fair.”
He closed his eyes.
“I was jealous of you.”
“I know.”
“Your father respected you.”
“He loved me.”
“He tolerated me.”
“He tried to save you.”
That old truth still haunted him.
“I think about that every day.”
“Good.”
Grant laughed weakly.
“You haven’t softened.”
“I have.”
“Not toward me.”
“That isn’t required.”
He looked at me for a long time.
“Will you forgive me?”
I had asked myself that question before.
For years, I assumed forgiveness meant releasing someone from what they did.
Now I understood differently.
“I don’t know what forgiveness means for you.”
“I just don’t want to die knowing you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
Hope entered his face.
I continued.
“I don’t love you either.”
The hope faded.
“You don’t occupy that much space in me anymore.”
He began crying.
Perhaps that was the cruelest thing I could have said.
Perhaps it was also the kindest.
His actions no longer controlled my emotional world.
“I spent so long thinking about how to beat you,” Grant whispered.
“And I spent too long thinking surviving you was the greatest thing I would ever do.”
I stood.
“It wasn’t.”
“What was?”
“Living afterward.”
He nodded slowly.
“Rosalind?”
“Yes?”
“Is Savannah okay?”
The question surprised me.
“Yes.”
“The boy?”
“Michael is healthy.”
Grant closed his eyes.
“Does she hate me?”
“That’s between you and her.”
He nodded.
“And Whitmore?”
“Stronger than ever.”
A faint smile.
“Walter would like that.”
“Yes.”
I walked toward the door.
“Rosalind.”
I stopped.
“Thank you for coming.”
I looked at the broken man in the hospital bed.
There had been a time when I dreamed of watching Grant suffer.
Now his suffering gave me nothing.
That was how I knew I was free.
“Goodbye, Grant.”
He died nineteen days later.
The prison notified me because I remained legally connected to parts of his closed estate.
I felt sadness.
Not for the man he became.
For the man he could have chosen to be.
Savannah attended no memorial.
Neither did I.
There wasn’t one.
Grant Sterling was cremated through the federal prison system.
His ashes were claimed by no family member.
Margaret remained incarcerated.
I returned to the Hamptons that evening.
Thomas was cooking dinner.
Lillian was visiting for the weekend.
Jordan and Michael were chasing each other around the garden during a foundation gathering.
Savannah was laughing with Renee near the terrace.
Preston was arguing with a donor about baseball.
Life.
Messy.
Unexpected.
Real.
Thomas found me standing near Dad’s sundial.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
I looked around at everyone.
Then at the house Grant once tried to steal from me.
“I finally closed the last door.”
Thomas took my hand.
“What now?”
May you like
For the first time, the answer came easily.
“Whatever we want.”
