Chapter 50 - Cliff’s Plea
Cliff accepted a plea agreement in Indiana.
Audrey told me before the news reached local media.
The agreement covered financial offenses connected to multiple fundraising campaigns.
Restitution.
Probationary conditions after incarceration.
Restrictions involving financial management.
The exact legal language mattered to attorneys.
For us, one thing mattered more.
Grant.
Bryn told him with his counselor present.
I was not there.
Afterward, he came to our house.
He walked straight past me and downstairs.
The twins followed.
An hour later, Nico appeared.
“He wants you.”
I found Grant sitting on the basement floor.
A video game menu glowed on the television.
No one was playing.
He looked at me.
“Dad said he did it.”
“Yes.”
“He admitted it.”
“Yes.”
“Does that make him guilty?”
“In the legal sense, he accepted responsibility for specific charges.”
Grant frowned.
“That is the lawyer answer.”
“Yes.”
“The normal answer?”
“He admitted doing things that were crimes.”
Grant stared at the controller.
“I thought I wanted that.”
“What?”
“For him to admit it.”
I understood.
“And?”
“It feels worse.”
Truth often does.
Not because uncertainty was better.
Because uncertainty leaves a hidden door open.
Maybe everybody misunderstood.
Maybe evidence was incomplete.
Maybe Dad would explain.
A guilty plea closes some doors.
Grant’s eyes filled.
“What happens when he gets out?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do I have to see him?”
“That will be decided by you, your mom, counselors, and the court depending on your age and circumstances.”
He hated that answer.
So did I.
“What would you do?”
I became very still.
“That decision cannot belong to me.”
“Why?”
“Because he is your father.”
“You hate him.”
“No.”
Grant looked surprised.
“I don’t.”
“How?”
“I stopped feeding that feeling.”
“Do you forgive him?”
“No.”
The answer surprised him more.
“Then what?”
“I think about him when I need to. That’s all.”
Grant frowned.
“That sounds impossible.”
“It took practice.”
He looked toward the stairs.
“I want him to be different.”
“I know.”
“What if he isn’t?”
“Then you decide what relationship is safe for you.”
“And if he is?”
“Same answer.”
Grant wiped his face.
“That sucks.”
“Yes.”
Downstairs, Arlo had been pretending not to listen.
He finally spoke.
“Want to build something?”
Grant looked at him.
“What?”
“No idea.”
That was Arlo’s solution to emotional complexity.
Build first.
Define later.
They found scrap wood in Dad’s garage.
By evening, they had created something vaguely resembling a small boat.
It did not float.
They tested it in a plastic tub.
It sank immediately.
Grant laughed so hard he fell backward.
I stood in the doorway.
Bryn stood beside me.
“He’s okay?” she whispered.
“No.”
She looked at me.
“He’s also laughing.”
We watched.
Two truths.
Again.
Weeks later, Cliff wrote a public apology through his attorney.
I did not read it.
Bryn did.
She told me it named several victims.
Not all.
It did not mention me.
Good.
My life did not require one more statement from him.
Marcus Vale deleted the old podcast episodes after legal pressure and platform violations accumulated.
His show continued with other topics.
I stopped checking.
Another victory.
The Indiana families began receiving restitution through the court process.
Slowly.
Imperfectly.
The Curiosity Grant had nothing to do with it.
Neither did I.
That mattered.
The world did not need Laurel Pike personally supervising every consequence.
One evening, Dad asked whether I felt closure.
“No.”
He nodded.
“Me neither.”
“Do you need it?”
He thought.
“No.”
Neither did I.
Closure sounded like a locked door.
What we had was distance.
May you like
A long road between the person Cliff had been in our daily lives and the person he had become in our memories.
Sometimes distance was better.
