Chapter 8 - A DIFFERENT KIND OF MAN
A year passed.
The Hale empire changed completely.
My legitimate companies remained.
The rest were sold or dismantled.
The foundation grew.
Grace became director of family outreach.
My mother moved into the mansion permanently.
Lily started school.
Amara attended the same school.
The two girls became inseparable.
And I learned something unexpected.
Being a father was harder than being a mafia boss.
A mafia boss only needed people to fear him.
A father needed patience.
I failed often.
One morning, Lily refused to go to school.
“Why?”
“I don't want to.”
“Why?”
She crossed her arms.
“Because someone said you're scary.”
I knelt.
“Who?”
“A boy.”
“What did you tell him?”
She shrugged.
“That my daddy is nice.”
My heart tightened.
“Am I?”
She thought.
“Sometimes.”
I laughed.
“Fair.”
She hugged me.
“Don't be scary today.”
“I'll try.”
That promise became more important than any business agreement I'd ever made.
On Lily's sixth birthday, we held a small party.
No politicians.
No criminals.
No bodyguards inside.
Just family.
Lily blew out the candles.
Then handed me a gift.
“For you.”
I opened it.
A drawing.
A large table.
Everyone sitting around it.
Me.
Lily.
Grace.
Amara.
My mother.
And my wife.
I stared at the drawing.
“You put Mommy here.”
Lily nodded.
“She belongs with us.”
I couldn't speak.
She climbed into my lap.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you sad?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Because I miss your mom.”
Lily thought.
“Me too.”
She touched the drawing.
“But we're still a family.”
I kissed her forehead.
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Then don't be sad.”
If only life were that simple.
That night, my mother found me in the kitchen.
“You're different.”
“How?”
“You smile.”
I looked at her.
“Did I not smile before?”
“Not honestly.”
She sat beside me.
“Your father would never recognize you.”
“Good.”
She smiled.
“I think he'd be proud.”
“I don't need his pride.”
“No.”
She looked toward the hallway.
“You need hers.”
Lily appeared.
“Daddy!”
I turned.
She held two plates.
“Mom says we're having ice cream.”
I looked at my mother.
“She said what?”
My mother laughed.
“Your daughter is learning manipulation.”
Lily smiled innocently.
I shook my head.
“Fine.”
She cheered.
And for the first time in years, the Hale mansion echoed with laughter.
Not fear.
Not commands.
Laughter.
But peace was fragile.
Three days later, I received an envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
My wife.
Alive.
Standing beside a car.
On the back:
SHE DIDN'T DIE IN THE CRASH.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then another photograph fell out.
My wife holding Lily.
But the date was six months after the crash.
My hands began shaking.
Impossible.
Unless...
Everything we knew was wrong.
I called Grace.
She came running.
“What happened?”
I showed her the photograph.
She stared.
“No.”
“You recognize the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“When was this taken?”
“Six months after the crash.”
I looked at her.
“Then where is my wife?”
Grace whispered:
“I don't know.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman's voice spoke.
“Julian.”
I knew that voice.
My heart stopped.
“Who is this?”
A pause.
Then:
“It's me.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Claire?”
My wife's voice trembled.
May you like
“Yes.”
The phone slipped from my hand.
