Malcolm greeted us in the entry hall beneath an enormous portrait of his own father.
He looked older than I remembered, but his smile retained that practiced certainty of people who are accustomed to controlling how every meeting ends.
“Emily,” he said.
“You look well.
I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Four years late,” I replied.
His expression tightened.Nathaniel placed the copied memorandum on a side table.
“Why didn’t you give me this?” he asked.
Malcolm barely glanced at the page.
“We had important transactions underway.
Your marriage was over.
I was protecting you from an opportunistic claim.”
“Three children are not an opportunistic claim,” Nathaniel said.
“You did not even know if they were yours.”“Neither did you.
You denied me the chance to ask.”
Malcolm poured water into a glass with remarkably steady hands.
“You were fragile after the divorce.
It was a difficult season.
A good father makes choices a son will thank him for eventually.”
