Chapter 8 - THE LAST THING DANIEL TOOK
Daniel did not want money anymore.
Money could be recovered.
Reputation could be rebuilt.
What Daniel wanted was for Grant to understand loss.
Three nights after his release, Bellweather burned.
Claire woke at 2:17 a.m. to twelve missed calls.
By the time she reached Brooklyn, flames were pouring from the warehouse windows.
“No!”
She ran toward the building.
A firefighter stopped her.
“My work is in there!”
“You can't go inside.”
“My paintings—”
“Claire!”
Grant's voice.
She turned.
He ran toward her wearing sweatpants, a coat thrown over a T-shirt.
Claire stared at the flames.
“My children's mural.”
Grant reached for her, then stopped himself.
Even now.
Even terrified.
He waited.
Claire crossed the space herself and collapsed against him.
Grant held her.
The roof groaned.
Windows exploded.
Months of Claire's work disappeared behind orange flame.
She cried into Grant's chest.
Then suddenly froze.
“Ethan.”
“What?”
“Ethan sometimes sleeps upstairs.”
Grant's expression changed.
He immediately ran toward the firefighters.
Ten minutes later, they found Ethan unconscious near a rear exit.
Alive.
Smoke inhalation.
Claire rode with him to the hospital.
Grant followed.
At dawn, investigators confirmed what everyone feared.
Arson.
Security footage showed a hooded man entering through the rear loading dock.
Grant knew before police said it.
Daniel.
But Daniel made another mistake.
He had assumed Grant would chase him.
Grant didn't.
He stayed with Claire.
“Police can find him,” Grant said.
Claire looked at him.
“You're not going?”
“No.”
“The company—”
“Can wait.”
“Daniel—”
“Can wait.”
Grant took her hand.
“You can't.”
Those two words broke something open inside her.
Not because they were romantic.
Because eleven months earlier, she had needed them.
And Grant had finally learned how to say them.
Police arrested Daniel that afternoon at a private airfield in New Jersey.
He had cash.
A false passport.
And one final file containing confidential Mercer documents.
The threat was over.
The damage was not.
Bellweather's insurance covered only part of the loss.
Ethan considered shutting the foundation down.
Claire refused.
“We rebuild.”
“With what money?”
“I'll figure it out.”
Grant heard about the problem.
He did nothing.
Claire noticed.
Part of her expected him to arrive with a check large enough to solve everything.
Old Grant would have.
Instead, three days later, he asked:
“Would you be angry if I offered help?”
Claire considered.
“How?”
“That's your decision.”
She stared.
“You're asking permission to give away money?”
“I'm evolving.”
She laughed.
Grant smiled.
Claire thought for a moment.
“No Mercer name on the building.”
“Agreed.”
“No control over the board.”
“Agreed.”
“No giant donation that makes everyone owe you.”
“Okay.”
“And you work.”
Grant frowned.
“Work?”
She handed him a paint scraper.
“The temporary space needs renovation.”
Grant stared at it.
Claire raised an eyebrow.
“You wanted to help.”
He removed his jacket.
For six weekends, Grant Mercer scraped paint, carried lumber, assembled shelves, and discovered that he was terrible at using a caulking gun.
The children adored this.
One eight-year-old named Sophie appointed herself his supervisor.
“You missed a spot.”
“I own a construction company.”
“You still missed it.”
Claire laughed so hard she nearly dropped her brush.
Grant looked at her.
And for a second, everything else disappeared.
That evening, they sat on the floor eating pizza.
Exactly as they had eleven years earlier.
Claire noticed it first.
“So this is familiar.”
Grant smiled.
“Better pizza.”
“Worse apartment.”
“This isn't an apartment.”
“Exactly.”
Their eyes met.
The laughter faded.
Grant reached into his pocket.
Claire tensed.
He noticed.
“It's not the ring.”
She relaxed.
He produced the old photograph from their first apartment.
My favorite version of us.
Claire looked at it.
“I used to think that was my favorite version too,” Grant said.
“Used to?”
He nodded.
“Those people loved each other, but they didn't know anything yet.”
Claire studied him.
“What do we know now?”
“That love isn't a savings account.”
She smiled faintly.
“You can't make deposits for three years and then live off them forever.”
“No.”
“And being sorry doesn't entitle you to another chance.”
Grant swallowed.
“No.”
Claire looked down at their hands.
“Do you want one?”
His eyes lifted.
“What?”
“Another chance.”
He didn't answer immediately.
That surprised her.
Finally:
“Yes.”
Her heart tightened.
“But only if you want to give it. Not because I changed. Not because Daniel manipulated us. Not because we lost the baby.”
Claire's eyes filled.
“Why, then?”
“Because maybe the people we are now could build something better than the people we were.”
Claire stared at him.
Then leaned forward.
She kissed him.
Softly.
Once.
Grant did not grab her.
Did not deepen it.
He let Claire decide when it ended.
She pulled away.
His eyes remained closed for half a second.
“That wasn't forgiveness,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“It wasn't me moving home.”
“I know.”
“It was one kiss.”
Grant opened his eyes.
“One extremely good kiss.”
Claire laughed.
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“The arrogant man I married.”
His smile faded slightly.
“Do you regret marrying him?”
Claire looked at him for a long moment.
“No.”
Grant's breath caught.
“I regret what happened to us.”
She touched his cheek.
“But no. I don't regret loving you.”
Outside, snow began falling over Brooklyn.
Inside, they sat shoulder to shoulder.
Not husband and wife in the old sense.
Not strangers.
Something unfinished.
Something beginning again.
Then Claire's phone rang.
Her doctor.
She frowned.
“Hello?”
Grant watched her expression change.
“Yes.”
A pause.
Claire stood.
“When?”
Another pause.
“I understand.”
She ended the call.
Grant immediately became concerned.
“What happened?”
Claire stared at him.
“The tests I had done before I left you.”
“The envelope?”
She nodded.
“What did they find?”
Claire's eyes filled with tears.
And then she smiled.
May you like
For the first time in almost a year, she smiled while crying.
“They found out why I lost the baby.”
