That silenced him.
“You were supposed to protect me.”
My voice trembled, but I didn’t look away.
“Instead, you took my money.”
I placed the bank statement on the table.
“You lied about my grandfather.”
I placed the photographs beside it.
“You stole his letters.”
I placed the correspondence file down.
“And when you realized he had left everything to me…”
I looked at him.
“You threw me out.”
My father lowered his head.
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“That you would leave me behind.”
I almost laughed.
“You were the one who left me.”
Silence.
Margaret Ellis cleared her throat.
“Nathan, the board has reviewed the evidence.”
She turned toward my father.
“Daniel Brooks is removed from all executive positions effective immediately.”
My stepmother gasped.
My father stared at her.
“You can’t.”
Margaret’s voice remained calm.
“The controlling
shareholder can.”
Everyone looked at me.
I took a breath.
“Yes.”
My father closed his eyes.
Then Margaret continued.
“His access to company accounts and confidential records will also be suspended pending the completion of the legal investigation.”
My father looked at me.
“Please.”
It was the first time I’d ever heard him say that word to me.
I didn’t feel victorious.
I felt tired.
“I won’t stop the investigation,” I said.
He nodded slowly.
“I understand.”
“No.”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“You don’t.”
He waited.
“You thought taking everything from me would make me disappear.”
I stood.
“But all you did was teach me how to survive without you.”
My father looked away.
Richard stepped beside me.
“There is one final matter.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
He handed me a small envelope.
“This was your grandfather’s last letter.”
My hands trembled as I opened it.
There
were only a few lines.
Nathan,
If you’re reading this, then you survived the thirty days.
I wish I could have protected you from everything your father did.
But I couldn’t give you a life without hardship. I could only give you the chance to build one after it.
Remember this: You were never unwanted. You were never forgotten. And you were never the burden they made you believe you were.
You were my grandson.
And I was always proud of you.
I had to stop reading.
For eighteen years, I had waited for someone to tell me I mattered.
It turned out that someone had been trying to tell me all along.
