Dad stepped forward. Not between us. Just there.
“Explain,” he said. “Without defending.”
Derek nodded.
For the next hour, he tried.
He admitted he’d borrowed money he had no right to borrow. He admitted he’d let Veronica take too much control of the house. He admitted that when the refinance fell apart, he panicked.
He’d talked himself into believing that if the Bellweather contract came through, he could pay everything back before anybody ever found out.
“And the storage room?” I said.
He looked at the floor.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
He rubbed his face with both hands.
“Veronica and Mom kept fighting. Dad kept avoiding it. I was working fourteen hours a day. Everybody kept making temporary compromises.”
“Until Mom and Dad were sleeping next to a lawn mower?”
“The lawn mower isn’t in there anymore.”
I just stared at him.
Derek actually winced.
“Bad answer.”
“Very bad.”
“Keep going,” Dad said, folding his arms.
Derek let out a long breath.
“I knew it was wrong,” he said. “And stopping it meant admitting the whole thing had become wrong.”
That, at least, sounded true.
He walked over to a metal filing cabinet. He took out a folder and handed it to Dad.
Inside was a cashier’s check.
Twenty-four thousand dollars. Made out to Manuel and Carmen Ruiz.
“I’m short four thousand,” Derek said. “I’ve got another payment coming Friday. I was going to give it all back this week.”
“Without ever telling them you took it?” I said.
His jaw tightened. “Yes.”
“That’s not paying it back, Derek. That’s covering your tracks.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know that now.”
Then I noticed a framed photo above his workbench. Dad, thirty years younger, standing next to a walnut dining table.
Beside it was a note in Dad’s handwriting.
BUILD IT SO IT LASTS LONGER THAN YOUR PRIDE.
“You kept that?” I said.
“He wrote it after I wrecked a cabinet door when I was sixteen,” Derek said. “I didn’t remember it until last year.”
Dad’s face softened.
A car pulled up in the alley. Veronica got out.
The moment she saw my car, she stopped. Then she walked in slowly.
She looked at Derek. “You told him?”
“Most of it.”
“Most?”
“There’s one more thing,” Derek said.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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