“The first time was when his brother passed away,” Ethan said. “The second was when he realized he had spent twenty years thanking the wrong person.”
Ethan reached into his briefcase.
“I brought something.”
He slid a leather folder across the table.
Inside were every credit card connected to the family trusts, every access card, every account authorization, and every signature stamp.
“I don’t want any of it,” he said.
“You don’t have to give it back.”
“I’m not giving it back.”
He looked directly at me.
“I’m admitting it never belonged to me.”
For a long moment, I simply stared at him.
This was not the Ethan I had seen outside Lauren’s wedding.
This was the young man I had married.
Honest. Humbled. Afraid.
“Thank you,” I said.
He nodded.
“I should have said those words years ago.”
Two days later, Richard asked if he could visit my office.
