Chapter 30 30

Chapter 30 30
I called Frederick that night.

He answered on the second ring.

"I need to see you," I said. "Tonight."

He hesitated. "Are you alright?"

"Just come."

He showed up twenty minutes later. I’d spent the time just sitting on my sofa, coat still on, the address still tucked in my pocket, the conversation with James replaying in my head. I didn't make tea. I didn't feed Ashes. I just waited.

I opened the door, let him in, and went straight back to the sofa.

He looked me over—my coat, my face, whatever I wasn't bothering to hide. He sat down across from me without a word.

"Portugal," I said.

Something shifted in his eyes. Not much, but I saw it.

"What about Portugal?" he asked.

"Don't," I said, locking eyes with him. "Please. Don't answer my question with another. Don't stall for time. Just talk. Tell me."

For a moment, he didn't say anything.

Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He looked at the floor, then looked back at me.

"How did you find out?" he said.

"My father told James. James told me." I kept my voice even. "Is she there, Frederick? Is my mother alive, living in Portugal?"

He held my gaze. "I don't know."

"Not good enough."

"I mean it." He ran a hand over his jaw, sounding tired. "My investigators found something fourteen months ago. Someone matching your mother’s description outside Faro, using a different name. I sent someone to check, but by the time they got there, she was gone. No trace. No forwarding address. Nothing."

I stared at him.

"You were going to tell me, right?" My voice was flat. "At some point. When you thought I was ready."

"Charlotte—"

"Was that before or after the will? Before or after the apartment?" My voice got tighter and I let it. I was tired of holding back. "What else are you hiding from me?"

"That’s everything," he said. "I swear, that's everything."

"You said that before."

"I know I did."

"And then there was something else."

He didn't look away. "I know. I know how it looks and I don’t have a good excuse. I kept things from you because I wanted to protect you. I know that's not my choice. And I keep doing it anyway." He stopped, shoulders tight. "I know how that sounds."

"It sounds like control," I said quietly. "It sounds like you deciding what I can handle—just like my father did. My whole life."

The room felt suddenly, sharply still.

He looked like I’d punched him in the gut.

Good, I thought. I was done being understanding all the time.

“I’m going to Portugal,” I said.

“Charlotte—”

“James is coming with me. We’re going to that address. We’ll get answers, one way or another.” I looked him in the eye. “I’m not asking for your permission or your help. I’m telling you because I’m tired of people knowing things about my life and keeping them from me.”

He sat there, silent. The wind outside picked up, scraping around the building and finding every gap it could.

“She might not be there,” he said, his tone careful.

“I know.”

“And if your father’s playing a game—”

“Then I’ll deal with it there.” I leaned forward. “Frederick. She kept a photograph of me on her mantelpiece. She saved money for me every month for three years. She wrote me three pages and called me Charlie.” My voice nearly cracked on that last word, but I kept it steady. “If there’s even the smallest chance she’s living in a house in Portugal right now, I’m getting on that plane. Nothing you say is going to stop me.”

His eyes stayed on me for a long time.

Something in his face shifted—past all the careful, controlled layers he usually showed. I saw something raw he rarely let out.

“I’ll come with you,” he said.

“I don’t need—”

“I know you don’t need me.” He spoke low and serious. “But I found her, and I lost her, and if she’s there, I want to help you get to her.” He hesitated. “And if this is one of your father’s games, I know them better than anyone.”

I looked at him. He was right about that.

And, honestly, the thought of marching into whatever was waiting in Portugal with only James—who I’d only just met—was scarier than I wanted to admit.

And truthfully, even if Frederick had made mistakes, even if I was still angry, he was still the person I trusted most in a crisis.

I couldn’t ignore that.

“You follow my lead,” I said. “Whatever we find, however it goes. You don’t decide what I hear or how I hear it. Everything comes through me.”

“Agreed.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.” He didn’t look away. “I’ll book the flights.”

“I’ll book my own flight.”

He almost smiled. “Of course you will.”

Ashes padded out from the bedroom, headed straight for Frederick, and sat down on his feet—traitor. I made a mental note to address that betrayal later.

I looked at both of them.

“We leave Friday,” I said.

Frederick nodded.

And just like that, for the first time in a long while, what I felt in that room with him wasn’t anger or confusion or the heavy, tangled grief I’d carried since the courtroom.

It felt a little more like being ready.

No matter what was waiting in Portugal, I wasn’t standing still anymore.