Chapter 3 - The Folder on the Table
Now Lila was in his arms.
Her little fingers clutched the back of his suit jacket.
Catherine tried to recover first.
“She is confused,” she said. “She exaggerates when corrected.”
Michael looked at her.
“She said you told her I’d disappear.”
Richard stood upright again, adjusting his lapels.
“Because you do disappear, Michael. Someone had to give the child consequences.”
Michael’s eyes cut to his father.
“Consequences for what?”
Richard did not answer fast enough.
Eleanor whispered, “For lying.”
Michael turned toward her.
His mother looked smaller in the beige dress and pearls, hands folded in her lap.
“What did she lie about?”
Eleanor’s mouth trembled.
Catherine answered.
“She tells people I hurt her.”
The room went still.
Michael felt Lila shrink against him.
He looked down at his daughter.
“Lila.”
She shook her head quickly.
“I didn’t tell. I didn’t tell anybody. Please don’t go away.”
Michael’s heart broke open.
He pressed his cheek gently against her hair.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Catherine took one step forward.
“Michael, she is manipulating you.”
He looked at her with such cold disbelief that she stopped moving.
“She’s six.”
“She knows what gets attention.”
“She was facing a wall while you ate breakfast.”
“She refused to apologize.”
“For what?”
Catherine’s eyes flicked toward Richard.
Michael saw it.
“What did she do?”
Richard spoke again.
“She found documents in your study.”
Michael frowned.
“What documents?”
Catherine’s jaw tightened.
“Nothing important.”
Michael shifted Lila higher against his chest.
“Show me.”
“No,” Richard said.
That was the wrong word.
Michael turned fully toward his father.
“No?”
Richard’s voice hardened.
“This family does not run because every emotional impulse becomes an investigation.”
Michael looked at Lila.
Then at the untouched breakfast plate.
Then at his mother’s lowered eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “Today it does.”
He carried Lila into the hallway, away from the dining room.
“Where is Noah?” he almost asked.
Then remembered.
There was no Noah in this family.
Only Lila.
One child.
One little girl everyone had managed to corner.
He took her to the front sitting room, wrapped her in his coat, and placed the repaired rabbit in her hands.
The moment she saw it, Lila began sobbing.
Not crying.
Sobbing.
Her small body folded around the toy.
“You found Bunny.”
“I found him.”
“She said he was gone because I was bad.”
Michael closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he saw the side table.
A leather folder sat partly under a stack of breakfast mail.
Richard’s initials stamped on the corner.
He picked it up.
Catherine entered the room.
“Michael, don’t.”
He opened it.
Inside were legal drafts.
Guardianship Continuity Recommendation.
Child Emotional Instability Notes.
Estate Care Authorization.
Private Education Placement.
Michael read the first page.
Then the second.
Then the third.
His blood went cold.
The documents suggested Lila should be transferred to a residential “therapeutic boarding program” for emotionally disturbed children if Michael’s travel obligations continued and Catherine assumed household guardianship.
There were statements prepared for Michael.
My daughter has become increasingly unstable.
My daughter fabricates stories about caregivers.
My daughter requires structured placement for her own safety.
Michael looked up slowly.
“You were going to send her away.”
Catherine’s face tightened.
“For help.”
“She is six.”
Richard stepped into the doorway.
“She is disruptive.”
Michael stared at him.
May you like
“To what?”
No one answered.
