Chapter 8 - The Price of Quiet
“My sister?”
Vanessa looked down at her coffee.
“For a little while.”
“My sister doesn’t even live in Pasig.”
“She has space.”
“Did you ask her?”
No answer.
I leaned back.
“You planned to sell their home and leave them with someone you hadn’t spoken to.”
“You make everything sound cruel.”
“What would make it sound better?”
She began crying.
A month earlier, those tears would have ended the argument. I would have apologized for my tone and sent money to fix whatever came next.
Now I watched her reach into her bag.
“I made mistakes.”
“Which ones?”
“Joel.”
“Tell me.”
She wiped beneath one eye.
“I was lonely.”
“So was I.”
“You had work. Friends.”
“I had a room I shared with three men and a phone I waited beside on Sundays.”
“You chose to leave.”
“We chose the contract together.”
“You could have come home.”
“Yes,” I said.
That surprised her.
“I could have asked more questions. I could have found a way to visit sooner. I will live with that.”
She leaned forward.
“Then you understand.”
“No. I understand my choices. I’m asking about yours.”
Her face hardened.
For a moment, the tears stopped.
She pulled a folded document from her bag.
“If you confirm the authorization, we can finish the sale and return what needs to be returned.”
I didn’t touch it.
“Who gets what’s left?”
“Enough would be set aside for the children.”
“Set aside where?”
“We can work that out.”
“The way you worked out their food?”
She pushed the paper closer.
“You want a public scandal? You want them growing up knowing their mother was dragged into an investigation?”
“They already know what happened at home.”
“You could protect them from the rest.”
I looked at the signature line.
She wanted me to turn the lie into something real.
To make the papers match the story she had already sold.
“No.”
“Think about it.”
“I have.”
She put both hands flat on the table.
“Marco owes people. This is bigger than you think.”
“What people?”
“I can’t explain.”
“Then explain it to my lawyer.”
I stood.
Vanessa grabbed my wrist.
“If you block this sale, they’ll come to the house.”
“Who?”
She released me.
That night, Cora called while I was helping Caleb brush his teeth.
May you like
“Joel,” she whispered. “There’s a truck outside your gate.”
I was already reaching for my shoes when she added, “They’re carrying things out.”
