“Michael told me Daniel ruined everything,” I said. “He was heartbroken over it.”
Margaret laughed, but there was no joy in it.
“Of course he did. That’s the story he sold everyone.”
She spread the documents wider across the table.
“Look. These are the transfers. Michael quietly moved the recoverable money into accounts only he could reach. Right before the worst of it hit. He did it because of you.”
Because of me… she said it so easily, but my instincts told me there was more to the story.
“He was heartbroken over it.”
“He protected your young family,” she went on. “You, the children. And he left Daniel holding every debt, every creditor, every ruined name.”
“That can’t be right.”
“It’s the only thing that is.” She tapped a letter. “This is Daniel’s handwriting. He begged Michael to honor their word. Michael never answered him.”
I remembered those years.
“It’s the only thing that is.”
Michael coming home grim, telling me Daniel had gambled the company away.
“Daniel never recovered,” Margaret said. “He lost his home, his health, his spirit. He died a few years later knowing his best friend had betrayed him.”
“Why didn’t you tell someone? Tell me?”
She paused, her eyes narrowing.
“Why didn’t you tell someone?”
“I went to Michael after Daniel passed. I told him I’d let you know exactly what kind of man he was. He begged me not to. Said it would destroy his family. So I left town.”
That’s why Michael told me she’d died.
“But you came back?”
She smiled.
“Yes… to make Michael pay.”
That’s why Michael told me she’d died.
“I was struggling,” Margaret continued. “Barely surviving. And Michael, guilty Michael, offered to pay my rent. At first he did it willingly. Penance, I suppose.”
“But it didn’t stay that way.”
“No.” Her jaw tightened. “Eventually he tried to stop. Said enough was enough. So I reminded him what I still had. The records. The truth. I told him if the payments stopped, you and your children would learn everything.”
“At first he did it willingly.”
“You blackmailed him.”
“Call it what you like. He paid for twenty-seven years.”
I stared at the documents scattered between us, my whole marriage rearranging itself in front of my eyes.
Then she drew a folded slip of paper from the metal box and slid it across the table.
“That’s next month’s invoice,” she said.
“Call it what you like. He paid for twenty-seven years.”
I stared at it.
“Michael is dead,” I said. “He was buried a month ago.”
“His debt isn’t.” Her eyes stayed level with mine. “Your family lived comfortably on money that should have been Daniel’s. That doesn’t die when he does.”
“You expect me to pay you?”
