Chapter 9 - THE COURTSHIP THAT WAS NEVER AN ACCIDENT
I found the photograph that night.
Adrian and me standing beside the Golden Gate Bridge.
Our third date.
He had his arm around me.
I was laughing.
On the back, I had written one sentence.
Maybe some accidents are meant to happen.
I nearly tore the photograph in half.
Then I stopped.
I placed it on the kitchen counter.
Evidence did not always belong to courtrooms.
Sometimes you needed evidence for yourself.
Something that reminded you why you could never go back.
Rachel filed for divorce the next morning.
Adrian’s attorney contacted her within two hours.
He wanted a private meeting.
“No,” I said.
Rachel studied me.
“He claims he has information.”
“He can give it to the police.”
“He says this information concerns you specifically.”
I hesitated.
“What kind of information?”
“He won’t say.”
I refused.
That afternoon, Adrian called from his attorney’s office.
Rachel put the call on speaker.
The attorney announced that everyone on the line consented to the conversation being recorded.
Then Adrian spoke.
“Claire.”
I felt nothing when I heard his voice.
That surprised me.
“You need to listen.”
“I listened for four years.”
“You lied for four years.”
Silence.
“My father told me to meet you.”
There it was.
No denial.
No excuse.
“What did he promise you?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why?”
“Because that’s how our family worked.”
I almost laughed.
“You expect that answer to help you?”
“No.”
For once, Adrian sounded tired instead of angry.
“I researched you.”
“Your property.”
“Your job.”
“Your family.”
“I knew about the condo before our first date.”
My hand tightened around the edge of Rachel’s desk.
“Did you ever love me?”
A long silence followed.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Somehow, that answer hurt more.
“Then why didn’t you stop?”
“Because loving you and disobeying my family became two different things in my head.”
“That is not love.”
“I know that now.”
“No.”
“You know you’ve been caught now.”
His breathing changed.
Then he said the reason he had called.
“There’s another archive.”
Rachel looked at me.
I stared at the speaker.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Convenient.”
“My father moved it years ago.”
“What’s in it?”
“The original recordings.”
“Of what?”
Adrian was silent.
Then he answered.
May you like
“Everything.”
*
