Chapter 6: Nine O'Clock
Julian arrived at nine on the dot.
His attorney, a compact woman named Harriet Voss whom I recognized from her reputation as one of London's sharpest family law practitioners, walked beside him.
Julian had taken my advice about the Sterling Systems legal team.
That told me he had read every page of what I'd given him.
He stopped when he reached our table.
He looked at the empty chair where his father had been sitting eleven minutes earlier.
"He was here," Julian said.
It wasn't a question.
"He left."
Julian pulled out the chair and sat.
Harriet Voss sat beside him and opened her briefcase without ceremony.
Grace introduced herself.
The two attorneys shook hands with the brisk mutual respect of professionals who understood the terrain.
Julian looked at me.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"What did he say?"
"He offered a private settlement.
He told me I didn't know what I was starting.
He said Marcus was sloppy." I folded my hands on the table.
"And he confirmed, on recording, that he was aware of Marcus's actions."
Julian went very still.
"He confirmed it?"
"Not explicitly.
But the phrasing is clear enough.
Grace has already sent the file to our barrister."
Harriet Voss leaned toward Julian and said something quietly.
He nodded once.
"All right," he said.
"Then let's talk about the girls."
For the next two hours, we talked.
Not about the past — the attorneys kept us anchored to the present and the practical.
Paternity acknowledgment.
Legal name options.
Custody structure.
Financial support.
Educational provisions.
Medical decisions.
Julian agreed to everything I proposed.
Every single item.
He didn't negotiate.
He didn't push back.
He sat across from me and said yes, and yes, and yes, with the focused attention of a man who understood that this was the only currency he had left that meant anything.
Near the end, Harriet Voss excused herself to make a call.
Grace followed to give us a moment.
Julian and I sat alone for the first time since the café the day before.
"I want to meet them properly," he said.
"Not at an airport.
Not like yesterday."
"I know."
"Can I — would you allow that?
When you're ready.
When they're ready."
I looked at him.
Four years had changed his face in ways I hadn't let myself notice on the plane.
There were lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before.
His certainty, which had once been the most exhausting thing about him, was gone.
"Yes," I said.
"When they're ready."
He exhaled slowly.
"Clara." He turned his coffee cup in his hands.
"My father.
What happens to him legally — I won't interfere with that.
I want you to know."
"I know."
"Even if it—" He stopped.
"Even if it damages the company.
The name.
All of it."
"Julian." I waited until he looked at me.
"I'm not trying to destroy your family.
I'm trying to make sure my daughters grow up in a world where what was done to me has a name and a consequence.
That's all."
He nodded.
His jaw worked for a moment.
"He told me, you know," Julian said quietly.
"After the divorce.
He told me I was better off.
That you had been holding me back.
That the company would grow faster without the distraction." His voice was very flat.
"I believed him."
The room was quiet.
"You were grieving," I said.
"And you trusted him."
"I should have trusted you."
I didn't answer that.
Some things don't need an answer.
They just need to be said.
The attorneys came back.
We signed the preliminary agreements.
Harriet Voss collected her copies with efficient care.
Grace slid mine into a folder.
As Julian stood to leave, he paused.
"The recording," he said.
"Of my father.
Will you send me a copy?"
"Your attorney already has it."
He almost smiled again.
This time it reached his eyes, just barely, for just a moment.
Then it faded.
"He's going to come at you," Julian said.
"Harder than this morning.
He has resources I don't even have full visibility into."
May you like
I picked up my bag.
"So do I," I said.
