Chapter 7: What Graham Said
His attorney arrived at half past nine.
I heard the second vessel come alongside.
Heard voices on deck, the sound of someone being escorted from the forward cabin to a private room below.
I stayed where I was.
Officer Reyes brought me toast and more coffee and told me the formal statement could wait until I was ready.
I was ready at ten.
I gave the statement in full, on record, with Agent Carver and my father's attorney present on a video call from the port authority office.
It took just over an hour.
When it was done, my father's attorney — a woman named Diane who had worked for my family for fifteen years and who I had always slightly feared in the best possible way — looked at me through the screen and said, "You did well.
Your father wants to speak with you when you're back on shore."
"Is he all right?"
"He hasn't slept," she said.
"But yes.
He's all right."
The call ended.
Agent Carver gathered his materials.
Before he left the room, he paused.
"Graham has asked to speak with you," he said.
I looked at him.
"Voluntarily," he added.
"His attorney advised against it.
He's asking anyway."
I thought about it for exactly three seconds.
"Fine," I said.
They brought Graham to the doorway of the room I was in and let him stand there.
His attorney hovered just behind him in the corridor, visibly unhappy.
Graham looked like a man who had spent the night recalculating and had not yet arrived at a number he could accept.
His shirt was untucked.
His hair was wrong.
But his eyes were the same — careful, measuring, looking for an angle.
"Nora," he said.
"Graham."
"I want you to know—" He stopped.
Started again.
"What you heard last night.
It wasn't—"
"Don't," I said.
He stopped.
"Your attorney is standing right behind you," I said.
"I have a federal agent six feet to my left.
Anything you say to me right now goes on the record.
So if you were about to tell me it wasn't what it sounded like, I'd think very carefully about whether that's the sentence you want attached to your name for the next several years."
Something shifted in his face.
The calculation ran, and he arrived at the number, and the number was bad.
"I just wanted to see you," he said.
"You've seen me."
He looked at me for a long moment.
His attorney put a hand on his arm.
"Graham," his attorney said quietly.
"We're done here."
Graham didn't move immediately.
He was looking at me the way he had looked at me on the deck the night before — but different now.
Last night it had been the look of a man finishing a task.
This morning it was something else.
Something smaller.
"Your father," he said.
"How long did he know?"
I didn't answer.
"He knew before the wedding," Graham said.
It wasn't a question anymore.
"He knew and he let it happen."
"He let me make my own choices," I said.
"And he made sure I had what I needed to survive them."
Graham's jaw tightened.
"The other woman," he said.
"The one who's testifying."
His attorney's hand tightened on his arm.
"Graham.
Stop."
"How did you find her?"
"Graham." The attorney's voice had an edge now.
Graham looked at his attorney.
Then back at me.
The calculation ran one more time, and this time he accepted the result.
He stepped back from the doorway.
His attorney moved him down the corridor without another word.
I listened to their footsteps fade.
Then I picked up my coffee cup, found it was empty, and set it back down.
Officer Reyes appeared in the doorway.
"We'll be heading back to port within the hour," she said.
"Your father has arranged transport from the dock."
"Thank you."
She started to go.
"Officer Reyes," I said.
She turned.
"The other survivor.
The one who's testifying." I paused.
"Is she all right?"
Officer Reyes considered the question.
May you like
"She's been waiting three years to be asked that," she said.
"I think she will be."
