Chapter 18 - The Question Wade Couldn’t Dodge
Wade asked me to meet him the night before the city review.
I said no.
Then he asked if he could come to the apartment.
I said no again.
Finally, he asked if I would talk on the phone.
That I agreed to.
Tessa was at my mother’s house.
I sat alone at the kitchen table.
Wade sounded tired.
“Legal wants me to say I shared the screenshot as part of normal outreach.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
“Then don’t say that.”
“I know.”
“Why are you calling me?”
He was silent for several seconds.
“Because six months ago, I would’ve said it.”
I leaned back.
“I know.”
“I would’ve told myself it was technically true.”
“Yes.”
“And if it protected my job…”
He stopped.
I did not rescue him from finishing.
“I probably would’ve let everybody else deal with the consequences.”
There was no pleasure in hearing him admit it.
Some apologies arrive so late they become archaeology.
You appreciate the truth.
You still live somewhere else.
“What do you want from me?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
That was the first useful answer.
Then he said, “Nolan thinks I should resign.”
“What do you think?”
“I think he’s sixteen.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“No.”
A bitter laugh.
“I guess he learned that from you.”
“No. He learned it from having to listen carefully because adults kept making things complicated.”
Wade did not argue.
The next morning, the city review was streamed publicly.
I did not plan to watch.
Then Tessa asked me to.
We sat on the sofa with my laptop on the coffee table.
Northline representatives answered questions first.
Procurement.
Timelines.
Source material.
The city attorney asked whether any visual concepts had been taken from sources outside the company without documented permission.
Northline’s general counsel said yes.
Then Wade was called.
He looked uncomfortable in a navy suit.
His hands stayed folded.
The attorney asked how he obtained Tessa’s image.
“My son sent me a photograph of her work.”
“Did the student authorize your son to photograph it?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
Tessa glanced at me.
Wade continued.
“I forwarded that photograph to a communications employee.”
“Did the student authorize you to do so?”
“No.”
“Did you identify the student as the creator?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
There it was.
The question.
A hundred answers could have softened him.
I thought it was informal.
I didn’t know it would be used.
I was proud of her.
I made a mistake.
All partially true.
Wade looked straight ahead.
“Because I did not treat her ownership as important enough.”
Tessa stopped breathing for a second.
The attorney paused.
“Please explain.”
Wade swallowed.
“She was my stepdaughter. I had developed a habit of assuming access to things connected to her because they were in our household or because I thought I was helping. That had already caused a serious conflict involving her computer. I should have known better.”
Northline’s attorney shifted visibly.
The city attorney asked, “Were you instructed to give that answer?”
“No.”
“Did anyone at Northline direct you to obtain student concepts?”
“No.”
“Did Northline know the image lacked permission when it entered company materials?”
“I don’t know.”
That mattered.
He did not invent blame.
He did not dodge his.
The questioning continued.
At the end, the attorney asked whether Wade had anything else to add.
“Yes.”
Northline’s counsel whispered something.
Wade ignored him.
“The student should not lose eligibility because of something I did.”
Tessa looked down.
The hearing moved on.
She closed the laptop.
“Was that good?”
I thought about the question.
“Do you mean good for him?”
“No.”
“For you?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Was it true?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Then I guess it was good.”
At lunch, Wade called.
He had been suspended without pay pending Northline’s review.
I felt sympathy.
And anger.
And sadness.
All at once.
“You okay?” I asked.
“No.”
“Fair.”
He laughed weakly.
“They wanted me to stick to the email chain.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because Nolan was watching.”
That answer bothered me.
“Would you have told the truth if he wasn’t?”
Another silence.
Then Wade said, “I want the answer to be yes.”
“But?”
“I don’t know.”
Strangely, that made me trust him more than certainty would have.
At four that afternoon, the foundation emailed finalists.
Tessa opened the message.
Her hands shook.
She read the first line.
Then covered her mouth.
“What?”
She turned the screen.
Her submission had been cleared.
She was one of six finalists.
The final presentation would take place in three weeks.
I hugged her.
She let me.
For nearly a minute.
Then she pulled back.
“I need to rebuild the model.”
“Why?”
She pointed at the competition rules.
Finalists had to present their concept live.
No prerecorded explanation.
No representative.
No parent speaking on their behalf.
Tessa went pale again.
“I have to talk in front of people.”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
May you like
Her expression turned horrified.
“I preferred the corporate theft.”
