"Will I?"
She shrugs. "I don't know. That's kind of up to you, isn't it?"
The simplicity of it—that it's a choice, my choice—feels both obvious and impossible.
Madison heads for the stairs, then pauses at the top. "Thorne?"
I look at her.
"But try, will you? I lost my dad and my mom. I don't want to lose a brother I'm just getting to know because he's already given up on himself."
She disappears down the stairs, Marley's tail the last thing I see.
I stand there in the empty hallway, listening to them moving around downstairs. Their footsteps, a mix of their voices, the sound of them leaving. Madison thinks I can change. That I'm not doomed to be our father.
Maybe she's wrong. Probably is.
Going to Ivy right now won't fix anything. She's made her choice. I could apologize, make promises, try to force a resolution, but she's already packed and leaving.
And maybe that's the point. Sitting with it instead of trying to fix it.
I head to my office instead. Not to hide. Not to plot or fix or control.
I pick up my phone and call Bill Fischer.
He answers on the second ring, warm and expectant. "Mr. Blackstone. I've been meaning to reach out. I imagine you've heard about Ivy's departure. I want to assure you that it won't affect your representation in any—"
"I'm terminating the retainer. Effective immediately."
"Mr. Blackstone, I'd strongly encourage you to reconsider.” All his warmth has evaporated. “This is a landmark agreement. Whatever the personal circumstances—"
"Bill." He stops. "You used one of your attorneys as a bargaining chip to land my business. I never should have gotten involved — that's on me. But she's left your firm. You're in her past and you have no future with Blackstone." I let that sit for a second. "I don't do business with men who treat people as leverage. Find yourself another client."
The line goes quiet. Then, "Mr. Blackstone—"
I hang up.
Then I sit down.
To sit with the uncomfortable truth that some things can't be solved with a deal or a drink.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ivy
The office space smells like fresh paint and possibility.
I stand in the center of the empty room, sunlight streaming through tall windows that overlook a quiet street in the Highlands neighborhood of Louisville. Twenty minutes from Madison's school in Anchorage. Thirty from downtown. Close enough to everything that matters.
"As you can see, the previous tenant moved out last month." The realtor, a woman named Carol with sensible heels and aniPad, gestures around the space. "Great bones. Plenty of natural light. The building has fiber internet, updated HVAC, and there's a coffee shop on the first floor."
Madison wanders to the windows, peering at the street below. "This is way better than that other place we saw yesterday."
"The one that smelled like old socks?" I ask.
"And sadness." She turns back to me, grinning.
I walk over to her, my reflection ghosting in the glass. Behind me, the empty office waits to be filled. My vision. My future.
