Page 6

After he leaves, the silence feels oppressive. I head upstairs, pulling open my bedside drawer. Inside is a small locket, the gold tarnished with age. I flip it open, revealing a photo of my mom holding me as a newborn. She looks tired but happy.

Dad wasn’t there when I was born. He’d been at some big meeting overseas. Mom always said it didn’t matter, that he’d made up for it later. But now… I don’t know.

I grip the locket tightly, that familiar ache surfacing. “What the hell’s happening, Mom?” I whisper.

Of course, she doesn’t answer. No one does.

The holding room is cold. Stale. It smells faintly like bleach and something metallic, like old coins. I’m sitting onthis cheap, plastic chair that creaks every time I move. The kind of chair that makes your ass go numb.

When the door opens, I’m on my feet before I can think. My dad walks in, escorted by two guards. His shoulders are slumped, and his face is pale, lined in a way I’ve never seen before.

“Dad,” I say, but my voice comes out rough.

He looks up at me, his eyes sharp despite everything. “Elliot.”

I don’t move right away. He’s always been this larger-than-life guy, you know? The man who owned every room he walked into. Now he looks smaller. Beaten down. Defeated. It’s fucking terrifying to witness.

“Jesus,” I mutter, stepping closer. “You look like shit.”

He snorts, which is something, at least. “This isn’t a five-star hotel.”

“Sit,” one of the guards grunts.

Dad sinks into the chair across from me, and I sit too. The table between us is scratched up, like someone’s been stabbing it with keys or a knife.

“You okay?” I ask. It’s a stupid question, but I don’t know what else to say.

“Could be worse,” he says, leaning back like he’s trying to look relaxed. It doesn’t work.

“Bullshit,” I snap. “This is insane. They’re saying you stole billions. Billions, Dad. What the hell’s going on?”

He exhales slowly, his hands resting on the table. “I made mistakes, Eli. Big ones. And now, I’m paying for them.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“Watch your tone,” he says.

I lean forward, my elbows on the table. “What happens now? How do we fix this?”

He shakes his head. “We don’t. You do.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means,” he says, his voice low and steady, “you’re leaving New York.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says. “This scandal is only going to get worse. The media’s going to tear me apart, and they won’t stop with me. They’ll come for you too. Your name, your reputation, your career — it’s all on the line.”

“You can’t be fucking serious, dad,” I snap. “I want to stay. I have hockey. I want to be here for the trial. I can visit you.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he just stares at me. Then he leans forward, matching my posture. “Listen to me, Eli. I had Mr. Coleman pull strings just to see you again. I needed to tell you this to your face. You need to leave New York. Your life is not ending because of my mistakes. You have a future. Hockey, the NHL, school. You’re finishing your degree, getting that law diploma. None of this bullshit touches you, understand? You make do with what you got. Leave the city and start over.”

“Dad—”

“No,” he interrupts, slamming his hand on the table. “No arguing. You’re leaving this fucking city. There are plenty of good schools, good teams, anywhere but here. You cannot stay.”

“And what about Maria?” I ask, my voice sharp. “What happens to her? She’s been with us forever. She’s family.”