He called that evening.

Claire was back in her apartment, still in her good coat, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea she hadn't touched.

Her phone lit up with Walter's name — he'd put his number in her phone himself before she left, which had felt strange and real at the same time.

"He went to the press," Walter said.

Claire set her tea down.

"Already?"

"A financial reporter.

Someone Derek has used before to float stories about competitors.

The piece will say that I've become erratic, that I'm making impulsive decisions, that I amended my will in favor of a stranger I met the night before." A pause.

"It will be published tomorrow morning."

"Is there anything you can do to stop it?"

"I could," Walter said.

"But I'm not going to."

Claire waited.

"Let it run," Walter said.

"Let him show everyone exactly what he's willing to do.

A story like that has a way of turning around on the person who planted it, once the full picture comes out." Another pause.

"I want you to be prepared, though.

Your name will be in it."

"My name," Claire said quietly.

"I'm sorry.

I should have anticipated this faster." He sounded like he meant it.

"If you want to step back from all of this — if you want no further part of it — I will understand completely.

What you did last night was a kindness.

I have no right to make it a burden."

Claire looked at the photograph of her mother on the windowsill.

Her mother, Margaret Dowell, who had worked two jobs for eleven years after Claire's father left.

Who had never once complained about it.

Who had gotten sick two years ago and apologized to Claire for the inconvenience of the medical bills, as if being ill were a personal failing.

"What does the amended will say?" Claire asked.

A brief silence.

"A portion of the estate goes to a charitable foundation I'm establishing," Walter said.

"In Eleanor's name.

For families managing long-term illness costs." He paused.

"The remainder is restructured.

Derek retains a share, but operational control of the company passes to a board of trustees I've selected.

He cannot access the principal assets without board approval."

"And me?" Claire said.

"A trust," Walter said.

"Enough to cover your mother's medical expenses in full, with a remainder that would — if you chose — allow you to stop working for a while.

Or go back to school.

Or simply rest." His voice was careful.

"It is not a transaction.

It is not payment for last night.

It is what I would have done for someone I trusted, if I had found that person sooner."

Claire was quiet for a long time.

"He's not going to stop," she said finally.

"Derek.

He said it himself."

"No," Walter agreed.

"He won't."

"Then we need to be ready for what he does next."

"Yes," Walter said.

"We do." A pause.

"Get some sleep, Claire.

Tomorrow will be loud."

She hung up.

She looked at her mother's photograph for a long time.

Then she picked up her phone again and dialed.

Her mother answered on the second ring, voice soft with sleep.

"Claire?

It's late, love."

"I know," Claire said.

"I just wanted to hear your voice." She paused.

"Mum.

Something happened.

I'm going to tell you all of it.

But first I need you to know — I think things are going to get better."

A silence.

"What did you do?" her mother said.

"I brought someone a hot meal," Claire said.

"In the rain."

Her mother was quiet for a moment.

"That sounds like you," she said.