“I can't pretend the situation with Arthur doesn't affect us.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
She continued.
“I've disclosed the conflict, and I'm staying out of decisions involving your loan. But I also can't promise the people reviewing it will make the decision you want.”
I looked toward her.
“I'm not asking you to.”
She nodded.
Then smiled sadly.
“Good.”
I took a breath.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
I looked down.
“When Emily died, everybody wanted to help.”
Vanessa listened.
“People brought food. Offered to watch Maya. Tried to pay bills. I appreciated it.”
My throat tightened.
“But after a while, I started feeling like the only thing anybody could see was a man who needed rescuing.”
Vanessa's expression softened.
I continued.
“So when I found out your company was involved in the loan, part of me thought I was about to become another problem you could solve with money.”
She shook her head gently.
“That's not how I see you.”
I looked up.
“Then how?”
Vanessa smiled.
“As a man who knelt beside a stranger's car in the rain because he couldn't stand leaving somebody stranded.”
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
She continued.
“As a father who talks about his daughter as though she's the most interesting person in the world.”
I felt tears rising.
“And as somebody who doesn't realize how rare it is to be kind without expecting something back.”
I looked away.
Vanessa reached across the table.
Then stopped, giving me room to decide.
I placed my hand in hers.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then I smiled.
“You know, I've been accused of being stubborn.”
She laughed.
“Really?”
“Frequently.”
She squeezed my hand.
“I think we'd have that in common.”
After dinner, we walked beside the lake.
The air was cold.
City lights reflected across the water.
Vanessa told me more about her mother.
How she'd repaired the Firebird herself when she was younger.
How the car had become a symbol of freedom long before the family became wealthy.
Then she asked about my father.
I told her about Theo.
The crooked smile.
The bicycle repairs.
The way he used to sit beside me after closing and explain why honesty mattered more than a fast profit.
Vanessa listened.
Then asked a question I'd been avoiding.
“Why did he refuse to sell the property?”
I looked toward the lake.
“I'm not sure.”
She waited.