— I don't want a financial outcome to rewrite that.
Margaret wept.
— Sometimes I still want to prove that I wasn't wrong about the investment.
— You can be right about the investment and completely wrong about everything else.
Silence.
— That's worse.
— Yes.
Because she couldn't say: bad project, bad decision.
The reality was far more uncomfortable: the project was perhaps good.
The method was intolerable.
That forced a confrontation with actual ethics.
Not results.
THE GLASS OF WINE
Five years after his return, Margaret came back to the mansion for Christmas.
The first time.
Claire had invited her.
David:
— Are you sure?
— Yes.
— It doesn't mean everything is fixed.
— I know.
— If I regret it, she leaves.
— Yes.
Margaret arrived.
No robe.
A simple dress.
Brought dessert.
Walked into the kitchen.
Stopped.
The same spot.
Claire by the sink.
Now hair down to her shoulders.
Strong.
Margaret:
— I can leave.
Claire:
— No.
— I was just thinking.
— Me too.
David walked in with wine.
Looked around.
No one knew what to say.
Margaret pointed at the sink.
— That day, you were holding a cup.
Claire:
— Yes.
— A blue one.
— We broke it later.
David:
— I broke it.
Claire:
— Accidentally.
— How convenient.
Margaret smiled.
Then paused.
— Claire.
— Yes.
— There's something I never said properly.
Claire waited.
— I didn't isolate you because I thought you were weak.
— I did it because I knew that if you and David spoke directly, my control would be over.
Silence.
— That's an even uglier truth.
Claire nodded.
— Yes.
— But it's far more useful than «I wanted to protect you both».
Margaret:
— I know.
— Thank you.
Not "I forgive you."
Thank you for the precision.
David poured wine.