“We’re going.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
I sounded more confident than I felt.
After hanging up, I stood by the windows, looking out across the city.
Eleanor joined me.
“You have children.”
“Two daughters.”
“How old?”
“Fourteen and nine.”
She smiled faintly.
“Best ages.”
“You have grandchildren?”
“One.”
Her expression changed.
“Claire.”
We stood quietly for a moment.
Then she asked whether my daughters understood why I’d lost my job.
“Probably.”
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth.”
“That you stopped for me?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
I smiled.
“Lucy asked whether you said thank you.”
Eleanor laughed gently.
“And did I?”
“Eventually.”
Her amusement faded.
Then she said something that stayed with me.
“Christopher, wealth creates a dangerous illusion.”
“What illusion?”
“That money can protect the people you love from becoming strangers.”
She looked out the window.
“I spent forty years building companies because I thought stability was love. I gave my family homes, schools, opportunities, trust funds.”
