Chapter 8 - THE HOUSE BY THE LAKE
June refused the mansion.
“I don’t want to live where I was hungry,” she said.
I understood.
So we found a small house near a public school in Peoria.
It had a yellow front door, a crooked fence, and a backyard just big enough for Lila and Micah to run through.
June cried when she saw it.
Lila chose the bedroom with the window facing the street.
Micah chose the room closest to his mother.
Rosa chose the chair by the kitchen window, where afternoon sunlight fell across the floor.
For the first time, June’s family was together.
Not because I saved them.
Because they had survived long enough for the truth to reach them.
I visited only when invited.
At first, Lila was wary around me.
She remembered the warehouse.
She remembered men taking her away.
One afternoon, she sat at the kitchen table drawing with crayons while I drank coffee with June.
Lila pushed a picture toward me.
It showed a large black house, a small yellow house, and four stick figures.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“That’s our old house,” she said, pointing at the black one.
“And this?”
“Our new house.”
“Who’s that?”
“Me. Micah. Mommy. Grandma.”
I smiled.
“And where am I?”
Lila looked at me seriously.
“You’re outside.”
June covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
I nodded.
“That makes sense.”
After a moment, Lila added a small stick figure near the yellow house.
“But you can come in sometimes.”
It was more forgiveness than I deserved.
Meanwhile, Blackwell was dismantled.
The criminal divisions were sold. The legitimate hotel and development companies were placed under independent oversight. I testified against my brother, the board members, and every official who had taken money.
Some old allies called me a traitor.
Others called me weak.
I stopped caring.
At night, I still missed Evelyn.
I missed her in the kitchen. In the garden. In the empty space beside me in bed.
But for the first time, grief no longer made me hide.
It made me remember.
And remembering made me act.
Then, one evening, Claire called.
“Nathan,” she said.
“I found something.”
“What?”
“Elliot had help from someone outside the company.”
My chest tightened.
“Who?”
Claire was quiet.
Then she said, “The man who hired the mechanic to cut Evelyn’s brakes is dead.”
I felt no relief.
“Then why are you calling?”
“Because his son isn’t.”
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And his son had just been released from prison.
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