Chapter 6 - My Father Wanted To Destroy Him
For forty-eight hours, Emilio was excellent.
On the third day, he became Emilio again.
“I can make sure Serrano never raises institutional money in Miami.”
“No.”
He stared at me.
“I didn’t say illegally.”
“No.”
“I know every bank—”
“No.”
“Camila.”
“Stop.”
He stood in Daniela’s kitchen wearing a suit that probably cost more than her refrigerator.
I almost laughed.
“You do not get to turn what happened to me into an opportunity to become powerful on my behalf.”
“He hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“He used your injury to control you in public.”
“Yes.”
“And I am supposed to sit quietly?”
“You are supposed to ask what I want.”
That stopped him.
I watched his face.
Grief.
Anger.
Then something older.
The twenty-year-old version of me standing in his office saying exactly the same thing.
He sat down.
“What do you want?”
There it was.
I exhaled.
“I want the criminal process to be the criminal process.”
He nodded.
“I want the foundation board to handle governance without you calling donors.”
Another nod.
“I want my divorce lawyer to handle my divorce.”
His jaw tightened.
Still nodded.
“And I want you to be my father.”
He looked at me.
“I don’t know how to do that without fixing things.”
“I know.”
That sentence softened both of us.
His whole life had taught him love was logistics.
My mother became ill once when I was eleven.
Emilio hired three specialists before she finished describing the symptoms.
When I was bullied at school, he wanted the principal fired.
When my college roommate stole from me, he offered to buy out my lease.
Solutions.
Always solutions.
After Isabel died, solving became the only language he trusted.
I had spent years refusing that language entirely.
That was my own problem.
Because sometimes I did need help.
I had confused accepting help with allowing ownership.
They are different.
I told him:
“You can come to appointments if I ask.”
“Okay.”
“You can sit with me.”
“Okay.”
“You cannot call Alejandro.”
“I know.”
“You were going to.”
“Yes.”
I laughed despite myself.
So did he.
It was the first time we laughed together in more than a decade.
May you like
Not reconciliation.
A beginning.
