Chapter 2 - THE THING HER FATHER CONFESSED
Jason was arrested forty-eight hours later.
Not by Roman’s men.
By Boston police after Roman’s attorney delivered the recording and financial records to investigators.
Morgana did not attend.
She sat in Roman’s kitchen drinking terrible coffee while Helena made soup.
“Your coffee is awful.”
Roman looked offended.
“It is imported.”
“It tastes like burned dirt.”
Helena laughed.
Roman glared at her.
“Apparently the household has rebelled.”
Morgana almost smiled.
Then her phone rang.
Detective Laura Bishop.
Jason wanted to speak to her.
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
Then she stopped.
“When?”
“Whenever you choose.”
Morgana hated those words.
Choice felt unfamiliar.
She went the next morning.
Roman drove separately.
He did not enter the station until she asked.
Jason sat behind glass.
He looked small.
Smaller than ever.
“Morgana.”
She picked up the phone.
“What happened to Mom?”
His eyes immediately filled.
Good.
Fear.
Or guilt.
“I loved her.”
“That was not my question.”
“I did.”
“What happened?”
Jason started crying.
Morgana felt nothing.
“She was leaving me.”
“I know.”
His face changed.
“How?”
“Answer.”
Jason swallowed.
“She found out about the gambling.”
“Shocking.”
“I owed money.”
“To Roman?”
“No. Different people.”
“How much?”
“Back then? Twenty thousand.”
“So you stole from her.”
“I borrowed.”
“Dead women can’t correct vocabulary.”
He flinched.
“She was going to take you.”
Morgana’s throat tightened.
“Good.”
“I panicked.”
“What did you do?”
Jason looked down.
“She had sleeping pills.”
Morgana’s hand tightened around the phone.
“I crushed some into wine.”
“How much?”
“I didn't know.”
“You didn't know?”
“I wanted her asleep. I was going to move money before morning.”
“How much did you take?”
“Thirty thousand.”
“Then?”
“She wouldn't wake up.”
Morgana stopped breathing.
“I called an ambulance.”
“Immediately?”
Jason cried harder.
“Jason.”
“No.”
“How long?”
“Maybe two hours.”
Morgana closed her eyes.
Two hours.
Her mother dying somewhere in the house.
Nine-year-old Morgana asleep upstairs.
Jason moving money.
Then calling for help only when it was too late.
“Why bruises on her wrist?”
“She woke up once.”
Morgana opened her eyes.
“What?”
“She tried to get out of bed.”
He covered his face.
“I held her.”
Something inside Morgana went silent.
Just as survival had always gone silent around danger.
She put down the phone.
Jason shouted through the glass.
“Morgana!”
She walked away.
Roman waited in the hallway.
He looked at her once.
That was enough.
“He admitted it?”
“Yes.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“What do you want?”
Morgana knew what he meant.
Not emotionally.
Practically.
“Nothing from you.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
She started walking.
Then stopped.
“I want him to live.”
Roman’s expression changed.
“In prison.”
He understood.
“Yes.”
“I want him to wake up every day knowing Mom died because he wanted thirty thousand dollars.”
“Yes.”
“No accidents.”
“No.”
“No messages from you.”
“No.”
“No men.”
“No men.”
Morgana studied him.
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
That became their first real agreement.
Jason was charged.
The case drew no headlines.
He was not important enough.
To Morgana, he had filled the entire sky.
To the city, he was one frightened, addicted man who drugged his wife, delayed medical help, stole her money, and later tried to trade his daughter to creditors.
There was something healing in how ordinary the legal language made him.
No monster.
Just a man.
May you like
Men could be held responsible.
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