"I always wondered," I say quietly, "if you ever spoke to him. After everything that happened."
Nate is quiet for a long moment.
When he speaks, his voice is distant, like he's somewhere else entirely.
"Once. He asked for me. The day before he died."
"He asked for you?"
"Yeah." He runs a hand through his hair. "I almost didn't go. I sat in the hospital parking lot for an hour trying to decide if I could do it. Face him one more time."
"What made you go in?"
"Nick. I called him and he talked me into seeing what he had to say. Said I'd regret it if I didn't at least hear what he had to say." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "He was right. I would've regretted it."
"What did he say?"
"He tried to apologize." Nate's eyes are distant now, seeing something I can't. "Told me he knew he wasn’t cut out to be a father. That he understood why I hated him but wanted to make it right before he died."
"How?"
"He offered me Jake's trust fund. Everything he had built, the entire Sullivan empire—he wanted me to have it."
My breath catches. “And how much was that?”
"Close to $187 million."
The number is so large it doesn't even feel real.
"Jesus, Nate."
"I told him no."
“Oh.”
"I told him there was only one thing I wanted if he actually meant what he said about forgiveness.” His eyes meet mine, and there's steel in them. "I told him to sign over every cent to Eden. To the community he helped destroy. To the people in South Eden who lost their homes, their businesses, their lives because of him.”
"What did he say?"
"He asked if that would make me forgive him." Nate's voice is quiet now. "I told him forgiveness wasn't mine to give. But if he wanted any chance at peace before he died, that was the price."
“Wow.”
"He died the next morning." Nate stands, moves to the sink and rinses his cup. "Three weeks later, I got a letter in the mail along with signed documents. His will, revised. It stated that every penny was going to the Eden Community Trust. No conditions. No strings."
I stand and move to him, place my hand on his back between his shoulder blades. The moment my palm makes contact, tension is there—coiled tight but then, slowly, it starts to ease.
His muscles soften under my touch, his shoulders dropping just slightly, his breathing deepening. He exhales long and slow.
We stand like that, connected, and I realize this is what we've always done for each other. Found the quiet spaces where we could set down our burdens, even temporarily. Where we could just be, without armor or walls to shield us from the world.
I lean my forehead against his shoulder blade, and he laces his fingers through mine, holding my hand against his heart.
"That money rebuilt the community center," he continues, his voice steadier now. "Funded the new school. Gave low-interest loans to families to buy back their homes or start new businesses. It's why South Eden is thriving now instead of being a wasteland.”
"You did that," I say softly against his back. "You could have taken that money, could have set yourself up for life, and instead you gave it all away."
"It wasn't mine to take." He turns to face me, and I let my hand slide from his back to rest on his chest. "It was blood money. Built on suffering and corruption and Jake's death. The only way it meant anything was if it went back to the people it was stolen from in the first place."
