Chapter 11 - The Confession of Robert Miller
Three days later, the storm had finally passed, leaving the city under a crisp, pale blue autumn sky.
I sat in the corner booth of Bellamy’s—the very booth where I had sat three nights ago with BBQ sauce dripping down my face while my family mocked me. The restaurant was quiet, closed for the morning prep, the rich smell of freshly ground espresso beans drifting through the air.
A lone figure was escorted through the front doors by Vance.
It was Robert.
He looked as though he had aged twenty years in three days. He was wearing an old, oversized jacket with frayed cuffs. His hands were stuffed deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched so low he looked barely five feet tall.
Vance guided him to the table opposite me. Robert looked at the pristine white tablecloth, unable to lift his eyes to meet mine.
"You wanted to see me, Robert," I said, setting my coffee cup down.
"The federal marshals served the asset freeze yesterday," Robert whispered, his voice trembling so badly he had to swallow twice before continuing. "They locked the business accounts. The dry cleaner is closed. The landlord put a padlock on the front gate this morning."
"I know."
"The bank is foreclosing on the house on Elm Street, Ethan," he choked out, finally looking up. His eyes were bloodshot, surrounded by dark, hollow purple rings. "In thirty days, Diane and I will be homeless. We have nowhere to go. My brother won't take our calls. Diane’s sisters blocked our numbers. Nobody will speak to us."
"Because everyone knows what you did to Evelyn’s legacy," I replied without a shred of pity. "You spent twelve years pretending to be pillars of the church and the community while you stole from your own son to fund a monster."
"I know," Robert broke down, dropping his forehead onto his trembling hands, sobbing openly in the empty restaurant. "I know! God forgive me, Ethan, I know! We were wrong! We were so terribly, terribly wrong!"
I watched him cry. For years, I had believed that seeing Robert Miller weep would give me peace. But looking at him now, I felt only a profound, detached pity. He wasn't crying because he had hurt me; he was crying because the illusion was dead, the bills had arrived, and there was no one left to pay them.
"Why, Robert?" I asked, asking the question that had lived in my chest since I was seven years old. "Why her? Why did you hate me so much?"
Robert sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of a weathered hand. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, yellowed envelope, battered and creased at the edges.
"We didn't hate you, Ethan," Robert whispered, his voice cracked with an ancient shame. "We were afraid of you."
I frowned. "Afraid of me?"
"You weren't like us," Robert murmured, staring at the envelope. "From the day you were born, you had your grandfather’s eyes. Evelyn’s father. You were quiet, observant, brilliant. You didn't need us. When you were six, you read books I couldn't understand. When you were ten, you fixed the bookkeeping for my shop in a single afternoon. Every time I looked at you, Ethan, I felt small. I felt stupid."
He swallowed hard, tears dripping from his chin onto the envelope.
"And Vanessa..." Robert continued, "Vanessa was weak. She was vain, foolish, and fragile—just like Diane and me. She needed us to prop her up. Every time we bought her something she didn't deserve, it made us feel powerful. It made us feel like we were kings, creating a princess."
He slid the yellowed envelope across the white linen cloth, pushing it toward my hand.
"What is this?" I asked, not touching it.
May you like
"Your grandmother Evelyn gave me that two days before she died in the hospice," Robert said in a hollow, broken tone. "She made me swear on the Bible that I would give it to you on your twenty-fifth birthday. I hid it in the attic because I knew... I knew if you read it, you would leave us and never look back."
***
