"You almost had me fooled."
She tossed the death certificate at me, her voice cold:
"Seems Frederick was right. You're far more calculating than you look."
"You—!"
"By the end of today, bring Freddy home. He's only six. He shouldn't be learning bad habits from a father like you."
She turned to leave.
I scrambled to my feet to stop her.
But Frederick stepped between us.
"Mr. Graves..."
His voice dropped low enough that only I could hear:
"I know Freddy's been dead for a while now."
I stared at him in disbelief.
"Want to know why Marian doesn't?"
He let out a quiet laugh. "Because I made sure every piece of news about Freddy never reached her."
My fists clenched.
"You know, Freddy really was pitiful.
"His mother had barely 'died' before he was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect.
"There was a donor match for him. A perfect one. But his father couldn't scrape together a single dollar. Working four jobs a day, never sleeping, and still couldn't cover the surgery.
"So little Freddy just... missed his chance."
My eyes burned red.
"But don't worry."
Frederick adjusted the cuff of his tailored sleeve. "He didn't die for nothing. His bone marrow, his kidneys, his corneas..."
The air left my lungs.