“How?”
“He signed contracts he had no authority to sign. Took advances. Made promises to smaller subcontractors using the Wilson name. When the projects collapsed, people lost money. Some lost their businesses. I covered what I could.”
“And then?”
“And then he disappeared.”
“Where does Cynthia fit?”
“I don’t know.”
But he said it too quickly.
“Dad.”
He turned.
The grief in his face startled me.
“Your mother begged me not to pursue charges,” he said quietly. “Paul was her last living family besides you. She believed he would come back and make it right.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“What happened to him?”
“I don’t know.”
Again, not quite a lie. Not quite the truth.
“Rebecca said this may be more complicated than a bad marriage.”
“It may be.”
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
“I hoped I would never have to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
His shoulders lowered.
“No. I wasn’t.”
The honesty hurt, but I preferred it.
I sat down because my legs suddenly felt tired.
