Chapter 6 - When the Powerful Man Sat Down
Cillian’s name appeared in the papers two weeks later.
The headline used the word empire.
The photograph showed him leaving an office building, jaw set, reporters pressing microphones toward him.
Sienna stared at the image over breakfast.
Lydia sat across from her.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know whether I’m being careful or frightened.”
“Those can feel similar.”
The article described a financial review involving several businesses, including one with historical ties to Cillian’s family. His attorneys stated that he was cooperating.
It did not accuse him of arranging the Ashworth transfers.
It also did not make him look innocent by association.
Sienna appreciated the distinction, even while her stomach tightened.
That afternoon, she asked to see him.
They met in a public garden near the hospital after her hand appointment.
The specialist had removed one layer of support. Her fingers remained stiff, and recovery would require patience.
She hated that word.
Cillian stood when she approached.
“Sit down,” she said.
He did.
For some reason, that made the conversation easier.
“I need to ask things you might not like.”
“Ask.”
“Did you know my father before the dinner where we met?”
“Yes. Through property negotiations.”
“Did you know he was hurting me?”
“I suspected something was wrong. I didn’t know the extent.”
“Why didn’t you do more?”
He looked toward the path.
A child in a red coat was trying to balance along a low stone wall while her father walked beside her.
“I told myself I shouldn’t interfere without knowing,” Cillian said. “And I gave you my number so I could believe I had done something.”
Sienna absorbed that.
“You’re not supposed to admit the selfish part.”
“I’m tired of leaving it out.”
She watched his hands.
He kept them still.
“What happens now with your businesses?”
“Some are being sold. Some closed. There are people I’ll have to pay back if the reviews establish what I expect.”
“Are you doing that because of me?”
“No.”
His answer came immediately.
“I began before you called. But knowing you has made excuses harder to tolerate.”
She looked away.
That was a better answer than devotion.
Devotion could become another kind of pressure.
Accountability belonged to him.
“I won’t become your reason to be a good man,” she said.
“I wouldn’t ask you to.”
“And I won’t move into a beautiful house where everyone answers to you.”
A faint smile crossed his face.
“You’ve been very clear about housing.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
She let the silence stretch.
Then, carefully, she placed her uninjured hand on the bench between them.
He looked at it.
Then at her.
“May I?”
“Yes.”
His hand settled over hers.
Nothing dramatic happened.
The garden remained ordinary.
A bus hissed at the curb.
Somewhere, a gardener started a leaf blower.
Sienna felt her shoulders lower.
At the end of the week, Edmund requested a meeting.
Through attorneys.
At a controlled location.
With conditions.
Sienna said no.
Then spent the entire night feeling guilty.
At breakfast, Lydia listened without interrupting.
“What would you want from seeing him?” she asked.
“An explanation.”
“Do you think he would give you one?”
Sienna pictured her father arranging his face.
“No.”
“Then you can wait.”
For the first time, waiting did not mean helplessness.
It meant choice.
The review of Eleanor’s death continued separately. Investigators recovered old correspondence and interviewed people who remembered the days before the crash.
There was no sudden revelation.
No hidden witness who had seen everything.
One week brought hope.
The next brought uncertainty.
Sienna learned to live with both.
In early winter, an investigator called with an update.
The available evidence supported that Eleanor had planned to leave Edmund. It did not establish that anyone had caused the collision.
Sienna stood at Lydia’s kitchen window while snow gathered on the sill.
“So I may never know more.”
“That’s possible.”
She thanked him.
Afterward, she cried.
Not because someone had promised a mystery and failed to solve it.
Because grief had no obligation to become a story with clean answers.
That evening, she took her mother’s letter from its folder.
For the first time, she read beyond the fear.
There were practical notes about housing, school, and work.
Eleanor had imagined a future.
May you like
Sienna unfolded a blank sheet of paper.
Then she began making plans of her own.
