Chapter 7 - THE MAN WHO DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO STAY
Silas returned to Chicago two days ahead of his original schedule. He canceled the disputed Geneva program, retained independent counsel to review every document Victor had handled, and arranged for an interpreter and a Deaf education consultant to support Milo at home. These were sensible steps, Margaret Chen told him. They were also embarrassingly overdue.
The boy came down the jet stairs carrying his repaired rabbit and refused to enter the waiting SUV until Silas showed him a picture of where they were going. The driver stood patiently while Silas explained the route in slow, imperfect signs, adding photographs on his phone when words failed. Milo pointed to the picture of their house, then to his father, making sure they would both be there. Silas nodded.
For most of Milo's life, servants and guards had filled the places where his father should have been. Elena had carried the family calendar, the birthdays, the conversations with teachers. Silas had provided everything money could obtain, then mistaken provision for presence. After Elena died, he retreated further into his offices and allowed Victor to arrange almost every part of his son's care.
The house they returned to was immense and immaculate. It had cameras, staff corridors, and rooms so large that a child's footsteps disappeared into them. It did not have a functioning visual door alert in Milo's bedroom. There was no clear system for telling him when someone arrived at night. His picture cards had vanished from their usual shelf. Silas walked through the rooms with Rosa, taking notes instead of issuing insults.
“I should have noticed,” he said.
Rosa looked down. “Mrs. Costello noticed everything.”
Silas stared at the empty place on Milo's bookshelf where Elena used to keep bedtime stories in ASL. “I thought coming into his room made it worse. He cried whenever he saw me.”
“He cried because he wanted to tell you things and couldn't,” Rosa said gently. “Sometimes he also cried because he missed his mother. It wasn't always something you could solve.”
The distinction was painful. He had spent eleven months trying to stop the tears rather than understand them.
That evening Milo refused dinner, then refused to put on pajamas. Silas felt his old impatience rising, but he stopped. A professional interpreter joined the family by video, and Milo explained that he was afraid someone would take his rabbit again. Silas asked who had taken it before. Milo said Victor once carried it into an office and wouldn't return it until Rosa complained. The child had never understood why.
Silas promised that Milo could keep the toy. He then signed YOUR CHOICE with deliberate care. Milo took the rabbit upstairs, glancing backward as if checking whether the promise would hold.
After bedtime Silas phoned Khloe. She was back in Chicago, reinstated for limited flight assignments while the company's review continued. He asked whether she'd meet him for coffee in a public place, without guards inside the room. She agreed after a pause long enough to make him realize he was no longer dealing with someone on his payroll.
They met the next morning in a small neighborhood bakery. Silas arrived in an ordinary dark coat, with only one discreet security driver waiting outside. Khloe wore jeans and a faded green sweater. Without her uniform, she looked younger and far less willing to indulge him.
“Have you slept?” she asked.
“Three hours.”
“That's not a badge of honor.”
He smiled faintly. “Neither is drinking four coffees.”
She looked at the cups beside her. “These are two. You counting my refills?”
For a moment they laughed, surprised by the ease of it. Then Silas turned serious.
“Victor controlled more than schedules. He controlled who could tell me things. Complaints came to his office. Elena's messages went through him during our last months. I thought I was surrounded by loyal people.”
“People can be loyal to your money and not to you.”
He nodded. “I've asked outside counsel to investigate the shipping records and referred the possible diversion of aid supplies to the proper authorities. Margaret says the evidence must be handled carefully.”
“Good.”
“I've also arranged for Milo to attend a bilingual program, after we visit and ask what he thinks. Rosa's coming. An interpreter too.”
Khloe studied him. “Are you telling me because you want approval?”
“Probably.” He looked embarrassed. “I'm trying not to.”
“You don't need mine. You need your son's trust.”
He reached for his coffee. “Do you think I can earn it?”
“Not with one good week.”
“Harsh.”
“Accurate.”
Outside the window, a small girl in a yellow coat dragged her father toward the bakery door. The man let himself be pulled. Silas watched them for a moment, his expression turning inward.
“My father taught me that love makes people dangerous. He meant it as advice. Elena used to tell me love makes people accountable. I thought she was naive.”
“What do you think now?”
“That being feared isn't as satisfying as I expected.”
Khloe set down her cup. “Silas, I need you to understand something. I don't want to become another person you recruit to fix your household. Milo deserves a team, friends, teachers, a community. And I have a life.”
He met her eyes. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“I am learning.”
It was a better answer than certainty.
That afternoon Maeve agreed to meet Silas and Milo through a Deaf community organization that offered family workshops. She had no intention of being hired as a permanent consultant; she wanted the family connected to people who could support them beyond a personal favor. Silas accepted the terms without negotiation.
By evening he could sign a few new phrases: BREAKFAST TOMORROW, I AM HERE, and WHAT DO YOU WANT? Milo corrected him mercilessly. Silas endured the corrections with a concentration that used to be reserved for negotiations worth millions.
Before bed the child brought him a photograph of Elena. In it she stood on a dock beside a stack of blue shipping containers, one hand shielding her eyes against the sunlight. Milo pointed to a man in the background, almost hidden behind a forklift.
**THAT MAN,** he signed.
Silas leaned closer. The man's face was partially turned, but the distinctive scar across his chin was visible.
It was Victor Sterling.
Milo touched the photograph again, then signed something Silas understood without help.
**MOM SCARED.**
Silas stared at the picture and felt the last of his certainty collapse. Victor had said he had barely seen Elena during the month before the crash.
May you like
The photograph was dated nine days before she died.
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