Chapter 9 - The Choice on Friday
By Friday, the Hart Street roof had been secured, the sidewalk reopened after inspection, and the school principal had posted the completed work notice. People still crossed quickly beneath the repaired awning. It would take more than one inspection to earn their confidence.
At headquarters, the board reviewed the forensic auditor's findings. A token issued under my name had been activated from an administrative terminal accessible to several members of Victor's department. Records showed that Victor had instructed a staff member to send the disputed transfer file to the escrow agent. They did not yet establish every person involved or where the money ultimately would have gone.
The board voted to terminate Victor's authority and seek recovery of the relocation funds through legal channels. It also suspended the proposed property sale and created an independently supervised account to pay affected workers and safety contractors while the inquiry continued. Our lawyers advised that litigation could take months or years. No one promised instant restitution.
I had wanted a dramatic scene in which someone admitted every lie. Instead I got resolutions, evidence logs, cautious legal language, and a long list of people still waiting to be paid. It felt less satisfying and more real.
Then Victor's representative delivered a final demand. Unless I publicly denied the twin relationship, the old adoption papers would be distributed to reporters with a suggestion that Rosa had abandoned one child for money.
I wanted to call Victor and threaten him. I wanted to use every ugly tool Carlo had taught me to recognize, and some he had taught me to admire.
Instead I called Rosa and Daniel together.
“They're threatening to tell your story,” I said. “They want me to contradict the test.”
Rosa went quiet. Daniel asked whether she was sitting down.
“I am,” she said. “I'm tired of men telling me what my life means.”
“We don't have to make a statement,” I told them. “Our lawyers can challenge defamatory claims and protect private records where the law allows. But if we respond publicly, I won't speak about you without your consent.”
“Then don't,” Daniel said. “Not yet.”
Rosa agreed. We notified counsel and documented the threat. Victor's representative received a response through the legal team, not from my anger.
That afternoon I attended a mediation session requested by Daniel about the café incident. It wasn't a secret settlement designed to buy his silence. He had asked for an apology made privately as well as publicly, reimbursement for medical evaluation and damaged clothing, and a written company policy limiting the use of private security against people raising complaints.
I agreed to those requests, subject to the appropriate process and legal advice. He did not ask me to declare us a happy family. He did not withdraw his police report merely because we shared blood.
When we left the office, a reporter stepped forward and asked whether I intended to sue the man who looked like me.
“No,” I said. “I owe him an apology, not a lawsuit.”
Daniel's mouth moved almost imperceptibly, as if he was fighting a smile.
That evening the school held an open house in its newly repaired courtyard. Daniel had invited Rosa and, after several days of thought, me. Children displayed small solar-powered models they had built in his maintenance workshop. One young girl asked why Daniel and I looked so alike.
“Family resemblance,” Daniel answered.
The girl nodded as if the answer explained everything, then hurried off to show us a fan powered by a miniature panel.
Rosa stood between us, not touching either of our arms. For once, nobody was asking her to choose who she loved more.
On my way home, Priya confirmed that the escrow money remained secured during the investigation. Recovery was still uncertain.
I thanked her and ended the call.
When I looked up, Daniel was standing at the gate. He had followed me out with a photograph in his hand. It showed the two babies side by side, the complete image Rosa had preserved.
“Mom says you can have a copy,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He hesitated. “I don't know if I'll ever trust you the way brothers are supposed to.”
“I haven't given you much reason.”
May you like
“No.” He looked toward the schoolyard. “But maybe we can start with coffee. This time you could buy it without throwing it.”
I laughed, surprised by the sound. We agreed to meet Saturday morning at the same café.
