My phone buzzed in my pocket.
A text from Sophie.
Dad, Mom says you lost your job. Are we okay?
Real life came crashing back into that conference room. Federal investigations, forty-six million dollars, shell companies. None of it changed the fact that I had two daughters wondering whether their father could pay the mortgage.
I stepped out into the hallway and called her.
She picked up on the first ring.
“Dad?”
“Hey, kiddo.”
“You’re fired?”
“Temporarily unemployed.”
“That sounds like fired.”
I smiled in spite of everything. “Your mother has always said you inherited my talent for inappropriate honesty.”
“Are you okay?”
That question almost broke me. Kids aren’t supposed to ask their parents if the world is falling apart. Parents are supposed to stand between their kids and the collapse.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you lying?”
“Only a little.”
She was quiet. Then she said, “Mom said maybe we shouldn’t do the Washington trip next month.”
My throat closed up. I’d been saving for that trip for a whole year. Sophie wanted to see the Smithsonian. Lucy wanted to see “the giant statue guy,” which I was fairly sure meant Lincoln.
“We’re going,” I said.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
I said it with confidence I absolutely didn’t have.
After we hung up, I stood alone at the hallway window, looking out at the city. Eleanor came and stood next to me.
“You have children,” she said.
“Two daughters. Fourteen and nine.”
She smiled faintly. “The best ages. You have grandchildren?”
“One,” she said. Then her face changed. “Claire.”
We stood there together for a while.
“Christopher,” she said finally. “Wealth creates a very dangerous illusion.”
“What illusion?”
“That money can keep the people you love from becoming strangers.” She looked out at the traffic far below. “I spent forty years building companies because I believed stability was love. I gave my family houses. Schools. Trust funds. Opportunities.” Her voice cracked. “And somewhere along the way, I stopped asking whether any of them were happy.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Then the elevator doors opened at the end of the hall.
A young woman ran out. Early thirties. Blond. Out of breath. Terrified.
“Grandma!”
“Claire?”
She ran straight into Eleanor’s arms.
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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