Tyler: is it true? All of it.
I typed back immediately. Yes, I have copies of everything.
Three disappeared, disappeared, then reappeared several times before his response came through.
Tyler: I always wondered where the money for James’ Harvard tuition suddenly came from. Dad said it was a bonus. I need time to process this.
Take all the time you need, I replied. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about tonight. You deserved better. Congratulations on graduating.
Tears pricked my eyes at this small kindness. Thank you, Tai.
Morning brought a flood of messages, some from extended family who had somehow already heard versions of the restaurant confrontation, others from friends checking in. Most surprisingly, there was an email from Professor Williams with a subject line, “Proud of you,” containing just one line: “Standing up for truth is never easy, but always right. My office door is open if you need to talk.”
I wondered how she had heard, but then remembered the small academic and legal world I inhabited. News traveled fast, especially scandalous news involving prominent financial figures.
My mother called again around noon, her voice tense. “Your father is flying back to Chicago today. James is going with him. Tyler and I are staying another day.”
“Why?” I asked, surprised by this development.
“Tyler wants to talk to you,” she explained. “And so do I. Properly, not over the phone. Can we meet for coffee this afternoon?”
We arranged to meet at a quiet café far from campus where we’d be unlikely to encounter anyone I knew. When I arrived, my mother and Tyler were already seated in a corner booth, both looking like they hadn’t slept. My mother embraced me tightly before we sat down, her familiar perfume bringing an unexpected wave of emotion. Tyler gave me an awkward side hug, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern.
“Your father is consulting with the firm’s legal team,” my mother began without preamble. “He is concerned about potential implications of what was said last night.”
“Is he denying it?” I asked.
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