complicated feelings

CHAPTER 8: THE CONFRONTATION

Isla did not sleep.

The USB from Maren sat on her small desk, glowing faintly every time her old laptop tried to read it. 4 files. She had listened to the recording 6 times. Each time, her mother's voice broke her a little more.

"I'm not asking for anything. I'm just pregnant."

"Then get rid of it. I'll pay."

Get rid of it.

Not a child. An "it."

At 6AM, Rome was still dark. The rain from yesterday had stopped. The Hourton Estate was silent, except for the kitchen staff downstairs.

Today was Sunday. Family breakfast. Mandatory. Rosa told her yesterday. "Mr. Richard makes everyone eat together on Sundays. Even if they hate each other."

Isla put on the same black dress from Chapter 5. No makeup. Hair tied back. She put the USB in her bra, and the printed Email_RH_2006.pdf folded inside her sock. She put her mother's photo - the one from the red dress gala, 2006 - in her pocket.

She was not going to beg. She was going to confront.

At 7:55AM, she walked into the main dining room.

It was massive. A table for 20, but only 4 chairs set. Crystal glasses. Gold cutlery. Paintings of Hourtons who had died 100 years ago watching.

Richard was already there, at the head. Reading Il Sole 24 Ore, financial newspaper. Coffee steaming.

Lorenzo was by the window, in a grey sweater, not a suit for once. He looked like he hadn't slept either. When he saw her, his eyes went to her face, searching.

Damian was not there yet. He was always late.

Selena was there. In silk pink pajamas, despite it being the dining room. She smiled when she saw Isla.

"Oh look, the charity case is eating with us now? Did Lorenzo invite you?"

Nobody answered her.

Rosa brought bread, eggs, fruit. Then left quickly. She knew.

Richard folded his newspaper slowly. "Isla. You are up early."

"I couldn't sleep," she said. Her voice was steady. Too steady.

"Sit," Richard said.

She sat. Across from Lorenzo. Next to the empty chair where Damian should be.

For 3 minutes, only the sound of forks.

Then Selena started. "Father, did you see the news? They say you have a secret African daughter. My friends are texting me. It's embarrassing."

Richard didn't look up. "The lawyers are handling it."

"Handling it how?" Isla said quietly. "With another 5 million euro envelope and an NDA?"

The table froze.

Lorenzo looked up sharply. "Isla-"

Richard put down his coffee. "What?"

"You offered my mother 50k in 2006 to disappear. You offered me 5 million 2 days ago to disappear. Inflation is a b***h, like Damian said. Or are you just getting more desperate to hide your mistakes?"

Selena gasped. "How dare you talk to him like that, you-"

"Let her talk," Richard said, his voice low and dangerous. He was staring at Isla now. Really staring. "Where did you hear 50k?"

Isla stood up. Her chair scraped loudly.

"From Maren."

Richard's face changed. Just for one second. A flicker.

"Maren?" Lorenzo repeated. "Maren who worked in legal? She left in 2008."

"Yes. Maren. The woman who was there when you told my mother to 'get rid of it.' The woman who you fired when she refused to delete my mother's employee file."

Richard stood up too. He was taller than she remembered from the meeting.

"You have no idea what you are talking about, little girl."

"I have the recording," Isla said, and her voice finally broke. "I have you on tape. December 2006. You telling a 24-year-old pregnant translator to get rid of her baby. My mother. Marie Allen. Who you called 'The Journalist Problem' in your email. Christmas Eve, 2006. 'Delete all records of Marie Allen. Pay her 50k. If she refuses, make her life difficult.'"

She pulled the folded email from her sock and slammed it on the table.

The paper slid to Richard.

Lorenzo picked it up before his father could. He read it. His hands started shaking.

"Father... is this... is this real?" Lorenzo whispered.

Richard didn't answer. He was staring at Isla's pocket. Where the corner of the red dress photo was sticking out.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, pointing.

Isla pulled out the photo. The gala. 2006. Marie in red. Richard's arm around her, smiling like he owned her.

"From Maren. And there's more. 4 files. Photos. Emails. And a letter from my mother to me, saying you offered to 'handle it' and she refused because she had dignity. Something you will never understand."

Damian walked in at that exact moment. In sweatpants, hair wet from the gym.

"What did I miss?" he said, then saw the email in Lorenzo's hand, and the photo on the table.

He picked up the photo.

His face went white.

"Mom?" he whispered. But he wasn't looking at Marie. He was looking at the background of the photo. In the corner, blurred, there was another woman. A woman in a wheelchair. With Lorenzo and Damian as kids.

Lorenzo's dead mother. The sick wife.

"Oh my God," Damian said. "This was the Christmas gala... Mom was there... Mom was still alive... Father, you brought her to the same gala as your wife?"

The room exploded.

Selena screamed, "What is happening?! Who is Maren?!"

Lorenzo grabbed his father's collar. For the first time in his life. "You brought your pregnant mistress to the same party as our mother? While she was dying of cancer? And you wrote 'Unacknowledged' on your own child?"

Richard pushed Lorenzo away. Hard. Lorenzo stumbled into the table, glasses shattering.

Isla didn't move. Tears were running down her face, but she was smiling. A sad, broken smile.

"You know what's funny?" she said to Richard. "My mother died 19 years ago. 11 months after I was born. In a public hospital in Joburg because she couldn't afford the private one. My Aunt Clara said her last words were not 'Find your father.' Her last words were 'Tell Isla I'm sorry I couldn't give her more.' But she DID give me more. She gave me pride. She refused your money. Settlement: Declined. Remember? You wrote it."

Richard was breathing hard. His perfect CEO mask was cracking.

"What do you want?" he asked finally, looking at Isla like she was a stranger. Like he had never seen her before.

Isla looked at him, at Lorenzo holding his bleeding hand, at Damian holding the photo of his mother, at Selena filming everything on her phone secretly under the table.

"I want you to say her name," Isla said.

"What?"

"Say her name. Not 'the translator.' Not 'the journalist problem.' Her name. Marie Allen. Say it. Say you knew her. Say you left her."

Silence.

The big clock ticked.

Richard opened his mouth. Closed it.

Then-

The front doors banged open downstairs. Loud voices. Flashes.

Paparazzi. Someone had leaked the breakfast.

"MISTER HOURTON! IS IT TRUE YOU HAVE A SECRET DAUGHTER?!"

"MISS ALLEN! ARE YOU HERE FOR MONEY?!"

Selena smiled. She had been livestreaming the whole fight on i********:.

Lorenzo saw the phone in her hand and grabbed it, throwing it against the wall.

Damian pulled Isla toward the back door. "We need to get you out. Now. They will-"

Lorenzo pulled Isla's other arm. "No, she comes with me. My office is safe."

Two brothers. One girl. Same as in room 214. One offering safety in the garden, one offering dangerous secrets.

And in the middle, Richard Hourton, finally, looking at the photo of the woman he told to get rid of it 20 years ago, and at the daughter who looked exactly like her.

He picked up the photo with shaking hands.

"Marie..." he whispered. Just her name. Quietly.

It was the first time in 20 years he said it with something other than anger.

Isla heard it. And for a second, she forgot about the cameras downstairs.

Then the security alarm went off.