Chapter 7
The heritage dinner was seven days away when Jillian made her decision.
She sat in her office at West Ridge High School, the door closed, her phone in her hand. She had called Cody’s grandmother in Pennsylvania. She had confirmed that Cody could stay there for the summer. She had booked a bus ticket to Brooklyn from the grandmother’s town. The program would provide housing. Cody would need spending money, but she had savings. Not much. Enough.
All she had to do was get him out.
But Malcolm had eyes everywhere. And the heritage dinner was the final step. Once Cody appeared beside Malcolm at that table, surrounded by the family’s oldest allies, he would be marked. Not just as a Bannon. As the next Bannon.
And Jillian knew—with a certainty that sat cold in her chest—that if Cody walked into that room, he would never walk out as his own person.
She drove to Malcolm’s house that evening. Not to argue. Not to plead. To tell him that Cody would not be at the dinner.
Malcolm met her in the study. He was wearing the same dark sweater, the same tired expression. He looked older than he had a week ago.
“Jillian.”
“Mr. Bannon.”
“Malcolm.”
She stood in the center of the room. “Cody won’t be at the heritage dinner.”
Malcolm’s expression did not change. “I see.”
“He’s going to Brooklyn. He’s going to study animation. He’s going to build his own life. And he’s going to do it without guilt.”
“You’ve decided this for him?”
“I’ve decided to stop letting you decide for him.”
Malcolm studied her. “You think I’m the villain of this story.”
“I think you’re a grieving father who is trying to keep his son alive through his grandson. And I think you don’t realize how much damage you’re doing.”
Malcolm was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “Shawn was going to tell Patrick.”
Jillian froze. “What?”
“About the Brooklyn program. About Cody’s talent. Shawn came to me three weeks before he died.” Malcolm’s voice faltered. “He said Cody needed someone in his corner. He said the family was going to crush him if we weren’t careful.”
Jillian’s eyes filled with tears.
“Shawn said, ‘I know what it’s like to have a dream and watch it die because you’re afraid to disappoint Dad.'”
Malcolm’s voice cracked. “Those were his exact words. And I didn’t listen. I told him Cody was too young to know what he wanted. I told him the family needed him.”
He looked at Jillian. “Three weeks later, Shawn was dead. And I’ve spent every day since wondering if the last conversation I had with my son was me telling him he was wrong to believe in his nephew’s dream.”
Jillian stood in the center of the study, tears streaming down her face. “Then let him go. Let Cody go. Honor Shawn by letting his nephew have the chance Shawn never got.”
Malcolm stared at her. For a long moment, she saw him fighting with himself. The old habits. The grief. The fear.
Then he nodded. “I’ll call Patrick. I’ll tell him the dinner is off.”
Jillian’s breath caught. “You will?”
“I will.” Malcolm’s voice was heavy. “I don’t want to lose another son. And I don’t want to lose the only grandson I have left.”
She moved toward the door. Then she stopped. “Thank you.”
Malcolm did not answer. He was looking at the empty chair in the next room. The one nobody sat in.
Jillian drove home with her hands shaking. She felt lighter than she had in weeks. Malcolm had agreed. He was going to call Patrick. Everything was going to be okay.
She walked through the front door and found Patrick sitting at the kitchen table. His face was gray.
“What happened?”
Patrick held up his phone. “Dad called.”
“I know. He told me he would—”
“He changed his mind.”
Jillian’s blood went cold. “What?”
“He called to say the dinner is off. Then he called back ten minutes later.” Patrick’s voice was hollow. “He said he’d been thinking. He said he couldn’t let Cody go. He said the company needs him. The family needs him. He said—”
Patrick’s voice broke.
“He said if I take Cody away from the family, I’m no son of his.”
Jillian stared at him. “And what did you say?”
Patrick looked at her. The silence was answer enough.
“Patrick.”
“I can’t.”
“Patrick, you have to.”
“I can’t.” He stood up. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what he’s done for us. The money he’s given us. The protection. The—”
“He’s buying you, Patrick. He’s been buying you your whole life.”
Patrick slammed his hand on the table. “Then what do you want me to do? Walk away from everything? From my father? From the company? From—”
“From your son?”
The words hung in the air.
Patrick’s face crumpled. “I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do.” Jillian’s voice was quiet. “You just don’t want to.”
She walked to the stairs. “I’m taking Cody to Pennsylvania tonight. We’re leaving before the heritage dinner. I’m not asking your permission.”
Patrick followed her. “Jillian—”
“Make your choice, Patrick. But make it now. Because I’m not letting your father destroy our son.”
She climbed the stairs. Behind her, Patrick stood frozen in the hallway.
Twenty minutes later, Jillian and Cody walked out the back door. Cody carried a backpack. Jillian carried a small bag. They moved through the garden toward the service gate.
Then a voice called out.
“Jillian.”
Dean. Patrick’s cousin. Standing near the garage with two other men.
“Malcolm wants to talk to you.”
Jillian’s heart dropped. “We’re leaving.”
“Malcolm said you might try that.” Dean’s voice was apologetic. “He said to tell you that Cody’s welcome to stay for the dinner. You’re welcome to stay too. But nobody’s leaving tonight.”
Cody pressed closer to Jillian. She put her arm around him.
“Call Patrick,” she said.
“Patrick already knows.”
Jillian’s blood went cold. She looked at the house. Patrick was standing at the kitchen window. Watching.
He didn’t come outside.
He didn’t stop them.
He didn’t do anything.
Jillian turned and ran. She pulled Cody with her through the garden, toward the back fence. She shoved him through the gap in the hedge. “Run. Go to the bus station. I’ll meet you there.”
“Mom—”
“Go.”
Cody ran. Jillian turned back toward the house. Not to go inside. To make sure they didn’t follow him.
Dean was already running toward her. She heard the others behind him.
She ran for the front gate. Her shoe caught on a stone. It came off. She didn’t stop.
The black Navigator was on the road. It slowed. She pulled open the door.
And she looked up.
Across from her sat Emmett Carbone.
“Do you want to go back with him?”
“No.”
Click.
“Drive.”
The Navigator pulled away. Jillian watched the Bannon estate disappear behind the trees. She was shaking. She was bleeding. She had just left her stepson at a bus station and her husband in a house that had become a prison.
Emmett Carbone handed her a handkerchief.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
She pressed the cloth against her foot. The car was silent.
Then Emmett said, “Tell me about the boy.”
Jillian looked at him. “Why do you care?”
Emmett’s eyes were old and tired. “Because I knew Shawn Bannon. And I knew what Malcolm did to him.”
He leaned forward. “And because I spent forty years watching families eat their children alive. I stopped it when I could.”
Jillian stared at him. “You’ll help us?”
“I’ll help the boy.” Emmett’s voice was quiet. “The choice is yours.”
Jillian looked out the window. The city lights blurred past. Somewhere ahead, Cody was waiting at a bus station. And somewhere behind, Patrick was standing at a window, watching his family disappear.
May you like
She didn’t know what came next.
But for the first time in weeks, she felt like she could breathe.
