for the accident. I've never told anyone. After they died, Alice offered to get me a puppy, and I said I didn't want one anymore."
Her eyes shine with love and warmth. “I’m so sorry, Blake. Of course it wasn’t your fault.”
“I’ve been trying to tell myself that. It’s just hard to believe.” I shrug unhappily, my gut churning. “That’s why I never even let myself look at dogs – because I love them. It’s a way of punishing myself.” I manage a bitter smile. Xena leans up against me and lays her head on my lap, and I stroke her head, feeling her pure doggy love flow up through my fingers.
To my utter shock and horror, tears spill from Winona’s eyes, diamond bright, and run down her cheeks.
"Your father and your uncle were both stealing from the company!” she blurts. “It wasn’t just the CFO. It was all three of them. Your father wrote a letter to your uncle, saying that he was sick of having to pay back more than his fair share, and that your uncle was in on it too, and he threatened to spill the beans.”
Her words don’t make any sense. I have to carefully replay them in my head to understand them. “Excuse the hell out of you?” I sputter. “What the hell… Why would you say that?”
“I’m sorry,” she says wretchedly. “I’m really, really sorry. Your uncle was probably the one who broke into your father’s office. He was looking for these files. Your father had them taped up underneath one of the drawers. When I opened the drawer, the files fell out onto the floor.”
I stare at her face, baffled. She might as well have just told me that my father was a hit man for the mafia, or a double agent for the KGB.
She holds out the bag that she’s been clutching to her chest. Her hands are shaking. I refuse to take it.
"That is not possible. If you knew my father, you’d understand that what you are saying to me right now is complete bullshit.” I spit the words out in a white-hot fury. “Do you understand the sacrifices he made to pay back a debt that wasn't even his?"
The look on her face is one of pure pity, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. Whatever she saw in that paperwork has her believing that he was paying back the debt because it really was his. All those years of stress, nearly losing our home and our store and worrying where our next meal would come from – she’s trying to claim that it was my father’s fault.
"I am really sorry, Blake,” she says again.
"If you're really sorry, then why would you try to destroy the man I look up to more than anyone in the world? The man who inspired everything I’ve ever done?” My voice has risen to a shout.
Her eyes shine with tears, but her gaze holds steady. "Because it's true. And because your uncle was part of it, and now he’s the CFO and he could do an enormous amount of harm to your company. Why do you think he’s so desperate to avoid going public? Because they’d be auditing the company and they’d want an accounting for every last dime spent. He’s probably still ripping you off, just being more careful about it.”
"So my uncle is a thief. Makes sense, doesn’t surprise me. That has nothing to do with my father.” I bite the words out viciously. There’s a warning in my tone. Shut up. Now. Take it back.
She doesn’t heed the warning.
“It’s all in the paperwork.” She tosses it onto the coffee table, a plastic wrapped landmine capable of tearing my world apart.
I refuse to touch it or look at it. "This is absolute horsecrap! You’re not a forensic accountant.”
She leans back, crossing her arms defensively. "I didn't say I was. When I showed it to Nestor–”
"You did what?” It’s a roar of rage that bounces off the rafters.
She flinches, the color draining from her face, but never drops her gaze. There’s so much pity there it makes me ill. "I had to. I didn't want to bring this to you without being sure."
"You gave our information to a journalist?”
“Are you even listening to yourself right now?” Her voice rises in volume. “I gave it to Clarita’s husband, not Clarita. And she is not a journalist. Clarita has a freaking neighborhood bulletin board. She blogs about neighborhood news and bargains. Nestor