“My employer terminated me this morning,” he said.
I felt no satisfaction.
Only distance.
“They found the undisclosed loans,” he continued. “And the client money I moved into the business.”
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed.
“That is outside the current property matter.”
“I know.” He looked at me. “I’m telling Claire because I want her to understand why I did it.”
“I already understand,” I said. “You were losing money.”
“I was trying to recover.”
“With my apartment.”
“I thought the credit line would buy me time.”
“And if it failed?”
“It wasn’t going to fail.”
“That is not an answer.”
He looked down.
For the first time since I had known him, Daniel seemed unable to hide behind certainty.
“I was going to repay everything before you found out.”
There it was.
The closest thing to honesty he had offered.
“You never planned to tell me.”
“No.”
The word was barely audible.
“Did Lorraine know about the loan?”
“She knew I needed the apartment to look occupied by family. She didn’t understand the financing.”
“She understood that it wasn’t hers.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
I sat back.
For weeks, part of me had wondered whether there was a version of the story in which Daniel had panicked, made one reckless decision, and lost control.
Now I knew better.
He had planned around my absence.
He had used my sister’s surgery as an opportunity.
He had forged my name because he believed my work, my records, and my boundaries were obstacles—not parts of me worth respecting.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Rebecca glanced at me, allowing the silence to belong to me.
“For what?” I asked.
Daniel looked confused.
“For everything.”
“That is what people say when naming the individual actions would make the apology unbearable.”
His face tightened.
“I’m sorry I forged your signature. I’m sorry I lied to my mother. I’m sorry I used the apartment in the application. I’m sorry I thought you would be too emotional to stop me.”
That last sentence landed hardest.
Because it was true.
He had expected outrage.
Chaos.
A fight with Lorraine.
He had never expected me to make one call, secure the records, and remove him from the plan before he understood I had found it.
“I accept that you said it,” I replied.
Hope flickered across his face.
“But I am still filing for divorce.”
The hope disappeared.
“Claire.”
“No.”
“You said you accepted my apology.”
“I accepted that you spoke the words. Forgiveness is not restored access.”