Chapter 21: Left-Handed

"Say that again," Alessia said, a second time, to the whole lobby.

Dario did not move.

"Not here," I said.

"Upstairs," said Alessia. "Both of you. Now."

She walked to the elevators with her backpack on one shoulder.

She did not look at Jared, or at his boxes, or at the camera.

Nobody in the lobby stopped her.

The elevator went up to the thirty-first floor in silence.

Dario stood against the back wall with his hands at his sides, and Alessia stood at the front with her back to us.

I led them into the empty boardroom, where I had suspended four sons on a Monday, and shut the door.

Alessia dropped her backpack on the table and turned around.

"Okay," she said. "Go."

"Alessia, sit down."

"I'll stand. Dario, say it again."

He took a breath.

"I'm your father," he said.

She looked at him from his shoes to his face, and her chin was trembling.

"I figured that out Friday," she said. "When you looked at my hand."

"You knew?"

"I know my birthday, and I can count to seventeen."

She turned on me.

"But I wanted you to say it. I wrote that note on Saturday, and I've waited since."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"You knew his number by heart."

"Yes."

"You knew where he was for seventeen years."

"Yes."

"You let me think my father was dead."

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