Chapter 10: Five Minutes
He was quiet for a moment, as though he hadn't expected me to say yes.
"The company," he said finally.
"Baldwin-Gallagher.
My name is on it."
"Lucas put your name on it as a courtesy.
You know that."
"I know.
But when he died —" A pause.
"Victoria, I built nothing.
My whole life, I built nothing.
Your mother left.
You grew up and made your own life.
I married Courtney and I told myself that was a fresh start, but it wasn't.
It was just —" He stopped.
"Lucas built something real.
And my name was on the door.
And when he died, I thought — if I could just hold onto a piece of it —"
"So you forged my signature."
"I panicked.
I thought you'd sell it.
I thought you'd grieve and fall apart and the whole thing would be liquidated and my name would disappear with it."
"So you decided to take it."
"I thought I could manage it.
I thought I was protecting something."
"You dragged me across my kitchen floor," I said.
"My water broke on my own porch.
You stood there and watched and did nothing."
He didn't answer.
"You want me to understand why you did it," I said.
"I do understand.
You were afraid of being nothing.
You've been afraid of that your whole life.
That fear made you cruel, and you chose cruelty over your own daughter." I paused.
"Understanding it doesn't change what it was."
"I know."
"The DA is going to charge you.
Eleanor is not going to intervene on your behalf, and neither am I."
A long silence.
"Is there anything —" He stopped.
Started again.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Cooperate fully.
Tell them everything.
Don't make this harder than it already is." A pause.
"And stay away from me and Clara."
"Victoria —"
"That's all I have to say."
I ended the call.
I sat for a long time after that.
Clara had fallen asleep.
The house was quiet in the way it had been quiet for three weeks — Lucas-shaped quiet, the kind that pressed against the walls.
But something had shifted.
I got up and made coffee.
I stood at the kitchen window and looked out at the yard — the yard Lucas had spent two weekends leveling because he wanted it right before the baby came.
He'd done it in October, in the cold, and come inside with his hands red and his face satisfied.
*It's level now,* he'd said.
*She can learn to walk out there.*
I pressed my hand flat against the window glass.
"I've got her," I said quietly.
"I've got the house.
I've got the company.
I've got Samantha and Eleanor and Diane." A pause.
May you like
"I've got all of it."
The yard was still level.
