Chapter 13
Victor read the first page of Enzo’s file in prison.
Not the letter.
Not yet.
Only the file.
Enzo’s testimony was dry, precise, and devastating.
Names.
Dates.
Companies.
Payments.
Threats.
One line stopped Victor cold.
My son is twelve. If I stay, they will make him prove he belongs. If I run openly, they will use him against me. If I cooperate, maybe my sister can keep him alive long enough to become someone else.
Victor read that line until the page blurred.
Someone else.
He had not become someone else.
Not then.
Maybe not fully now.
But the sentence created a grief different from rage.
His father had not chosen federal agents instead of him.
He had chosen the only route he believed might keep Victor from being swallowed whole.
Beatrice visited twice that year.
The first visit was stiff.
The second less so.
She brought no excuses.
He gave no forgiveness speech.
At the end of the second visit, she said:
“Your father’s final letter is still sealed.”
Victor looked at her through the glass.
“Keep it.”
“For how long?”
“Until I ask.”
She nodded.
May you like
That was new too.
Beatrice waiting for Victor’s choice instead of deciding what truth he could bear.
