Chapter 11 - Matthew Did Not Want a Father

Matthew Avery looked like Daniel around the eyes.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Not enough to prove anything.

Enough to make my chest ache.

He stood in the lobby wearing a charcoal coat and holding a flat leather portfolio.

Twenty-five.

Tall.

Dark hair.

Serious face.

He looked at Daniel once.

Then at me.

“Mrs. Harrison?”

“Claire.”

He nodded.

“Matthew.”

Daniel stepped forward.

“Can we speak privately?”

Matthew did not look at him.

“I came to speak to Claire.”

The rejection was quiet.

Daniel stopped.

I understood something then.

Powerless Daniel was almost unrecognizable.

I led Matthew upstairs.

Daniel started to follow.

“No.”

He stared.

I held his gaze.

After a moment, he stayed behind.

Matthew sat across from me in my old office.

It had been redecorated after I stopped working full-time.

Gray walls.

Minimalist shelves.

Nothing of mine left.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“For showing up in the middle of this.”

I almost smiled.

“The middle left yesterday.”

He looked down.

“I watched the ballroom video.”

“So did everyone.”

“My office receptionist sent it to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

I stopped.

Good question.

“I suppose because your private history became public too.”

He nodded.

“That part isn’t your fault.”

Another distinction.

Another adult who understood them better than most of my family.

“What documents do you have?”

Matthew opened the portfolio.

Letters.

Photographs.

A certified-mail receipt.

One envelope addressed to Daniel Harrison at his parents’ house.

Dated twenty-six years ago.

Before my wedding.

Before I met Daniel.

I read the letter.

Daniel,

I did not have the abortion.

His name is Matthew.

I am not asking you for money. I am asking whether you want to know your son.

Susan.

My hands went cold.

“Was this delivered?”

Matthew handed me the receipt.

Signed:

D. Harrison.

I stared.

Daniel’s signature.

I knew it as well as my own.

“You believe he signed for it.”

“My mother did.”

“Did she ever see him afterward?”

“No.”

“So someone else could have signed.”

Matthew’s expression changed slightly.

“You’re defending him.”

“No.”

I looked at the paper.

“I’m trying not to make the same mistake everyone made with your mother.”

Assumption becoming fact because the story is convenient.

He considered that.

“Fair.”

“What else?”

A second letter.

From Frank Harrison to Susan.

My son does not want involvement. I suggest you respect that.

My stomach turned.

“Frank intercepted her.”

“Yes.”

“Did your mother believe Daniel rejected you?”

“Until she died.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Cancer?”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

No drama.

Just a fact he had lived with.

“What did she tell you?”

“That Daniel knew and did not want us.”

“Do you believe her?”

“I believe she believed it.”

I looked at him.

He had learned the same hard language of complexity.

“Why come now?”

“Because Frank left other papers.”

He opened another envelope.

Company documents.

Harrison Custom Homes invoices.

Payments to Susan’s sister.

The same amounts we had traced.

And one memorandum written by Frank.

Daniel must never know payments continue. He chose Claire and the business. Keep the Avery matter buried.

I read it twice.

Matthew watched me.

“That suggests Daniel may not have known.”

“Yes.”

“So why did you tell Peter you had proof he knew before he married me?”

Matthew’s mouth tightened.

“I said Frank left documents that appear to show Daniel knew.”

“Peter simplified.”

“Apparently.”

I almost laughed.

Rumor could be born within one elevator ride.

“So you do not know whether Daniel received Susan’s letter.”

“No.”

“And the signature?”

“Could be his.”

“Could be Frank copying it.”

“Yes.”

“Have you had it examined?”

“No.”

I leaned back.

Matthew looked suddenly younger.

“Do you want a DNA test?”

“No.”

The answer was instant.

“Why?”

“I know who my father was.”

“Daniel?”

“My stepfather.”

I went still.

“Robert Avery married my mother when I was two. He raised me. He coached baseball badly, burned pancakes, paid for architecture school with money he didn’t have.”

Matthew smiled for the first time.

“He died three years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He was my father.”

I understood.

Blood was not the question he had come to answer.

“Then what do you want from Daniel?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you want from me?”

He looked around the office.

“My mother’s name cleared.”

That hit me.

“Diane Mitchell.”

He nodded.

“They knew each other.”

“Your mother and Diane?”

“They worked together briefly.”

My heart accelerated.

“Susan kept copies of Diane’s payroll records. Frank asked her to destroy them.”

“She didn’t.”

“No.”

Matthew opened the final folder.

Inside were time-stamped accounting reports showing Diane Mitchell could not have created the fraudulent vendor transfers attributed to her.

Her login had been disabled two days before several transactions were posted.

“Who posted them?”

Matthew pointed.

User initials:

FH.

Frank Harrison.

The dead man at the center of so many lies.

I felt oddly relieved.

Not because Frank was guilty.

Because Diane finally had clean proof.

“Will you give me copies?”

“Yes.”

“Why me?”

“Because Harrison Custom Homes owes her the apology.”

“Daniel is CEO.”

“For now.”

I looked at him.

He had seen the news about my sixty percent.

“Do you think I should take the company?”

“I don’t know you.”

“Good answer.”

He stood.

At the door, I asked, “Matthew.”

He turned.

“Would you speak to Daniel?”

“No.”

I nodded.

“He may ask.”

“He can ask.”

Another distinction.

Permission was not obligation.

When Matthew left, Daniel was waiting across the hall.

He looked at the young man.

Matthew looked back.

Neither moved.

For one awful second, I saw all the years between them.

Then Daniel said, “I’m sorry.”

Matthew’s face remained calm.

“For what?”

Daniel’s voice shook.

“For not looking for you.”

Matthew considered him.

“That is something you did.”

Daniel nodded.

“But it isn’t the worst thing that happened to me.”

Daniel looked surprised.

Matthew continued.

“The worst thing was adults deciding my life for me because they were afraid of discomfort.”

His eyes moved toward me.

Then back.

“I think your family has done enough of that.”

He walked away.

Daniel watched the elevator doors close.

Then he turned toward me.

“There is something I need to tell you before someone else does.”

I almost laughed.

“At least you’re learning.”

He did not smile.

“It’s about Ellie.”

Every muscle in my body tightened.

“What about her?”

Daniel looked toward the closed elevator.

“Frank had a DNA test done when she was a baby.”

I stared.

“Why?”

His answer came like a slap.

“Because he did not believe she was mine.”