Chapter 9 - Thomas Vale Comes Home
Six months later, Thomas left witness protection.
Officially.
No alias.
No sealed address.
No coded phone calls.
He returned to the Vale estate for the first time in nineteen years.
Christian met him at the front door.
Thomas looked at the house.
“Smaller.”
Christian almost smiled.
“You remember it bigger.”
“Yes.”
“Or you were guiltier.”
Thomas laughed.
“Also possible.”
He stepped inside.
The portrait of Christian’s mother still hung in the foyer.
Thomas stopped.
His eyes filled.
Christian waited.
Thomas whispered:
“She should have been the brave one in the story.”
Christian looked at him.
“She was.”
Thomas nodded.
They stood there.
Then Christian asked:
“Why did you take Shaw’s money?”
Thomas looked at him.
Still that question.
Still important.
“I thought I could outsmart him.”
Christian nodded.
“And?”
“I could not.”
“Good.”
Thomas looked surprised.
Christian continued.
“I am tired of people becoming heroes after the fact.”
Thomas smiled sadly.
“So am I.”
They walked into the library.
Christian placed the black ledger on the table.
Then the transcript.
Then his mother’s letter.
Thomas looked at them.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
Thomas frowned.
Christian continued.
“For once, nothing.”
He sat.
Thomas sat opposite him.
Christian said:
“I do not want another confession tonight.”
Thomas almost smiled.
“Then what?”
“Dinner.”
That surprised him.
Christian stood.
Thomas followed.
At the dining room, Beatrice was already there.
She raised a glass.
“I was promised food for twenty years of administrative suffering.”
Christian laughed.
Lillian came too.
Martin did not.
Not yet.
Alessandra arrived last.
No crimson gown.
Simple black dress.
Christian looked at her hand.
No ring.
She noticed.
“I put it away.”
He nodded.
“How does that feel?”
“Honest.”
“Good.”
Thomas looked between them.
Then said nothing.
Also good.
Dinner was awkward.
Then less awkward.
Beatrice complained about courthouse coffee.
Lillian corrected Thomas’s memory of an old trial.
Christian laughed.
Alessandra did too.
For a few hours, nobody was a witness.
Or defendant.
Or secret.
After dinner, Thomas stood on the terrace.
Christian joined him.
“You leaving again?”
Thomas looked at him.
“No.”
“Good.”
“I rented an apartment downtown.”
Christian laughed.
“You are not moving in?”
Thomas looked horrified.
“I thought we were rebuilding.”
“We are.”
“Slowly.”
Christian nodded.
“Smart.”
Thomas looked at him.
“You sound like your mother.”
Christian smiled.
“That is the nicest thing you have said.”
Thomas’s eyes filled.
Then Christian asked:
“Do you regret coming back?”
Thomas thought.
“No.”
“Even with prison possible?”
“Yes.”
“Even with everything public?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Thomas looked at him.
“Because being alive somewhere else was not the same as living.”
Christian looked toward the house.
Alessandra stood inside.
Watching.
Not approaching.
Giving him the choice.
He noticed.
Thomas did too.
“She is learning.”
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