Time to Confess

Chapter 3: What I Could Carry

I started looking for work before lunch.

Eli's house had a narrow desk in the spare room, but my laptop was still at Vale House. I borrowed his computer to check listings and learned that every employer in Bellwether already knew who I was. One local café had posted a temporary counter position; the owner pulled the listing down after I applied. A hotel farther inland had a full-time housekeeping job. I would've taken it, but the application asked whether I had a conflict of interest involving a hotel chain. I didn't know how to answer that honestly.

At two, Eli walked through the kitchen wearing a rain jacket and carrying his truck keys.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"To work."

"What do you do now?"

"Security consulting. Mostly risk assessments, sometimes private contracts."

"You still protect people."

"I still work."

The distinction wasn't fair, but I understood it. He wasn't my father's employee anymore. He wasn't my shadow.

"Do you know anyone hiring?" I asked.

"I know people who need competent workers."

"Then tell me where."

He set his keys down. "At the receiver's office."

I looked up from the laptop. "The company's receiver?"

"They're inventorying the hotel properties and reviewing the company records. They need short-term staff who understand operations."

"I was the operations director."

"You were also on the company payroll."

"Not anymore."

"Then you can apply."

I closed the laptop. "You're telling me to work for the people who are tearing apart my family's company?"

"I'm telling you to apply for a job."

"Why would they hire me?"

"Because you know how the hotels worked. If they don't want you, you'll find out."

"And if they do?"

"Then you do the work."

His answer was simple enough to make me want to argue. I put on my coat.

The receiver's office occupied two rooms above a pharmacy on Main Street. A woman named Dana Rusk interviewed me. She had short gray hair, a neat blouse, and a stack of folders on her desk.

"I can't offer you access to restricted finance records," she said. "I can't let you handle anything tied to the guarantee. You'd be helping with property inventories and operational records."

"I know the hotel side. Vendor lists, maintenance schedules, staffing plans, service contracts."

"We'll verify that."

"Of course."

She studied me. "People may assume you're here to protect your father."

"I'm here to get paid."

That made her mouth twitch, but not enough to become a smile. "You'll start tomorrow. Temporary, eight weeks. Twenty dollars an hour. No company vehicle."

"I can get myself there."

"Can you?"

"I'll figure it out."

She gave me a form to sign. This time I read every line.

When I got back to Eli's, he was working at the dining table with a tablet and two open files. I told him about the job.

"Good," he said.

"Do you ever say more than one word when something goes right?"

"Sometimes."

"What are the odds I'll see that?"

"Low."

I leaned against the counter. "I'm not going to let you pay for me."

"I haven't."

"You bought groceries."

"I needed groceries."

"You made extra."

"I made soup."

"Enough for two."

"Your math is good."

I walked over to the table and put my application copy down in front of him. "I can contribute to the electricity. Once I get paid."

"Okay."

The ease of his agreement caught me off guard. "Okay?"

"That's what you asked."

"I thought you'd insist I didn't owe you anything."

"You don't."

"I'd still like to."

"Then you can."

We looked at each other across the table. The moment felt bigger than the words, which was dangerous. I turned away first.

That evening, I called my father. It took three attempts before he answered.

"Claire," he said. I could hear papers moving in the background. "Where are you?"

"Somewhere safe."

"Good. The press has been asking for you."

"I've seen them."

"Don't give them anything. Graham will handle the communications."

"Why does my signature appear on the Harrow Point guarantee?"

A long pause. "We discussed this."

"No, we didn't."

"It was part of the refinancing. The company needed collateral."

"I never signed it."

"Your signature was on the document."

"I know what the document says. I didn't sign it."

"You may have authorized someone to submit it."

"I didn't."

His voice softened. "This isn't the time to turn on each other. We have to protect the family."

"You told me the company was stable."

"I was trying to keep everyone calm."

"You told me to keep the hotel open when payroll was already late."

"I was trying to save it."

"You were trying to save yourself."

He stopped speaking. I could hear a door close at his end of the call.

"Don't do this on the phone," he said.

"Then tell me what happened."

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"I'll explain when I see you."

The call ended.

I stared at the phone until the screen went dark. Then I looked up and found Eli standing in the hallway. He must have heard enough to know.

"Don't," I said.

"I didn't say anything."

"You don't need to."

"I'm not going to tell you what to do with your father."

"Good."

"But if someone asks you to sign anything, get a lawyer who doesn't work for him."

I looked down at my hands. "You think I'm that stupid?"

"No. I think you're exhausted."

The first kind answer he'd given me all day felt more intimate than it should have.