“He said you wouldn’t come.”
Behind us, Victor laughed too loudly.
“She called you for two years, Moretti.
Where were you then?”
That landed because part of it was true.
I had been away too long.
Elena and I had spoken after our father’s funeral, but our conversations had slowly become shorter.
Victor answered her phone more often.
Invitations disappeared.
Family visits were canceled.
Elena always had an explanation.
She was tired.
She was traveling.
The foundation needed her.
Victor needed her.
Eventually, she stopped asking me to visit.
I had mistaken isolation for distance.
I would carry that mistake for the rest of my life.
But Victor mistook my silence now for weakness.
He stepped closer.
“Tell him,” he said to Elena.
“Tell your brother how many times you chose me over him.”
Elena stared at the concrete floor.
Victor smiled.
“Go on.”
Her hand tightened around my sleeve.
Then she lifted her head.
“I didn’t choose you.”
Victor’s smile disappeared.
Her voice shook, but she kept speaking.
“You changed my passwords.
You fired my driver.
You told the foundation staff I was sick.
You sent messages from my phone.”
Victor looked toward the camera in my lapel.
Too late.
Every word was still streaming.
Elena swallowed.
“You made everyone think I wanted to disappear.”
“She’s confused,” Victor said immediately.
The speed of his denial almost impressed me.
“She’s traumatized.
She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
Elena looked at him.
“I know exactly what I’m saying.”
A pounding sounded against the warehouse entrance.
“Federal agents! Weapons down!”
Victor’s two gunmen looked at each other.
Victor shouted, “If either of you lowers that weapon, neither of you works again.”
One of them stared at him.
“You don’t employ us anymore.”
He placed his pistol on the floor.
The other followed.
Victor’s face went red.
“Cowards.”
The warehouse doors opened.
