Chapter 19: The Letter
The rainy Seattle autumn had returned, painting the sprawling grounds of the Sterling estate in vibrant shades of gold and burnt orange. Inside, the house was warm, filled with the scent of cinnamon and the distant, joyful sounds of a toddler's favorite cartoon playing in the living room.
Harry sat in his home office, nursing a cup of black coffee. He had officially stepped down from the Foundation’s daily operations, taking a position as an advisory board member. He spent his days managing his personal portfolio, reading, and, most importantly, being a father.
But this morning, the peace of his routine was interrupted by the morning mail.
Resting on top of a stack of financial reports was a plain, slightly crumpled envelope. The return address was stamped in stark black ink: FCI Sheridan, Federal Correctional Institution, Oregon.
Harry stared at it. It had been over a year since the trial, and Arthur had been silent since the day he was transferred to federal custody. Harry picked up a silver letter opener, sliding it under the flap, and pulled out a single sheet of lined yellow paper.
The handwriting was erratic, a far cry from the confident, sweeping signature Arthur used to put on corporate documents.
Uncle Harry, the letter began.
I don’t expect you to reply to this. I probably wouldn't if I were you. But I have a lot of time to think in here. Too much time. It's loud, it's cold, and I am completely alone. Beatrice filed for divorce. I guess a husband in federal lockup doesn't suit her aesthetic.
I'm writing because I’m desperate. Not for money—though God knows my commissary account is empty—but because the weight of what I did is crushing me. I let greed rot my brain. I let Beatrice twist me into a monster. I know I didn't push Chloe, but standing there and doing nothing was just as bad. I almost killed my own family.
I am so sorry. For all of it. I don't ask for your forgiveness, because I don't deserve it. But I just needed you to know that I know what I threw away.
Arthur.
Harry read the letter twice. He didn't feel a surge of anger, nor did he feel pity. He just felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness regarding the man who was once his nephew.
The heavy oak door to the office pushed open, and Chloe walked in, balancing a toddler on her hip. Lily was clutching a stuffed giraffe, her dark curls bouncing.
"Everything okay?" Chloe asked, noticing the serious look on Harry’s face. "You've been staring at that piece of paper for ten minutes."
Harry looked up, his expression softening instantly as he looked at his wife and daughter. "It's from Arthur."
Chloe’s posture stiffened slightly, a protective instinct kicking in as she held Lily a little tighter. "What does he want?"
"To apologize, mostly," Harry said, sliding the letter across the desk toward her. "And to complain about prison."
Chloe read the letter with one hand, her face unreadable. When she finished, she dropped it back onto the desk. "Do you believe him?"
"I believe he's sorry he got caught," Harry said honestly. "And I believe he's miserable. But an apology from a cage doesn't carry much weight."
"Are you going to answer him?"
May you like
Harry stood up, walking around the desk to wrap his arms around both of his girls. He pressed a kiss to Lily’s forehead, then kissed Chloe.
"I'm going to see him," Harry said quietly. "Just once. I need to close this door permanently, Chloe. For my own peace of mind."
