Chapter 6 - The Price of Telling Everything
Cassian’s mother had told Victor about the pregnancy.
She admitted it over breakfast as though she were explaining a misplaced reservation.
“He’s your uncle.”
Cassian stared across her dining table.
“He passed it to Sabine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know she used it.”
His mother set down her coffee.
“This situation has become unnecessarily ugly.”
Cassian laughed once.
The sound startled them both.
“Unnecessarily.”
“You have responsibilities to this family.”
He looked around the room.
The silver service.
The harbor view.
The portrait of his grandfather above the fireplace.
For years, responsibility had meant keeping certain doors closed.
His father’s debts.
Victor’s methods.
The favors that arrived without written terms.
Cassian had believed he could inherit the useful parts and quietly contain the rest.
Instead, he had signed things.
Looked away.
Allowed people to confuse his silence with permission.
“Nora is carrying my child,” he said.
“Then be sensible. Settle matters privately.”
He stood.
“No.”
His mother’s expression hardened.
“You sound like her.”
For the first time, he accepted that as praise.
At twenty weeks, Nora learned that Cassian had formally stepped down from his executive position.
She learned from Mara, not the news.
“He’s cooperating,” Mara said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means his own attorney is helping him provide records and statements. It also means he may face consequences for his participation.”
Nora looked toward the workshop through the office glass.
June was helping Luis fit a new rail.
For months, Nora had wanted Cassian to tell the truth.
Now that he was doing it, the truth did not feel clean or satisfying.
It felt heavy.
“What did he know?”
“That’s still being established.”
Nora nodded.
Then she returned to an estimate she had been avoiding.
An hour later, a courier delivered a small box.
Inside lay her bracelet.
Beneath it was the original repair receipt and a letter from the jeweler confirming when it had been collected.
No flowers.
No plea.
Only a note in Cassian’s handwriting.
This belongs to you. Returning it changes nothing I did.
Nora held the chain against her palm.
She remembered loving it.
That was the cruelest part of certain objects.
They could remain beautiful after everything around them changed.
She closed the box and put it in a drawer.
Three days later, Sabine asked to meet.
Nora refused.
Sabine sent a message instead.
You should know what he’s sacrificing before you let him destroy himself.
Nora forwarded it to Mara.
Then she blocked the number.
That evening, Cassian requested a conversation through the arrangement they had established.
Nora agreed to a call.
“My mother wants to contact you,” he said.
“About what?”
“Money. Privacy. An agreement.”
“Have you told her not to?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He hesitated.
“I also need to tell you something before it becomes public.”
Nora sat down.
“I signed off on payments after I knew the supporting records were unreliable. I told myself the work had probably happened and the paperwork was just wrong.”
“Did you believe that?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
“No.”
Nora looked at the drawer containing her bracelet.
“Why keep signing?”
“Because stopping would have forced me to admit what I’d already allowed.”
She heard him breathe.
“I was afraid of losing everything.”
Outside the office, a machine stopped.
The sudden quiet sharpened her next words.
“So you let other people carry the risk.”
“Yes.”
“Me.”
“Yes.”
“My staff.”
“Yes.”
Nora closed her eyes.
“I don’t know whether I can forgive you.”
“I know.”
“And the baby doesn’t give you a shortcut.”
“I know.”
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Cassian said, “I’m not giving the statement because I think it will bring you back.”
“Then why?”
“Because I keep finding places where I could have stopped. I can’t change those. I can stop now.”
After the call, Nora sat alone until Molly knocked.
“Everything okay?”
“No.”
Molly waited.
Nora looked up.
“But I think something may finally be getting honest.”
It wasn’t hope.
May you like
Not yet.
It was simply the first thing in months that did not require her to pretend.
