“All boys.”
“And they’re eight?”
“Almost nine.”
He swallowed.
Almost nine years of birthdays. Almost nine Christmas mornings. Almost nine years of scraped knees, missing teeth, nightmares, school plays, bedtime stories, fevers, drawings on the refrigerator, and four little voices asking why every other child seemed to come with two parents and they only had one.
Almost nine years of Daniel’s family celebrating legacy while his legacy learned to tie their shoes without him.
Vanessa sat slowly in a chair, staring at nothing.
“I met him at a fundraiser,” she said. “The veterans’ one.”
Daniel closed his eyes. “Vanessa, stop talking.”
She looked up at the investigators.
“He told me he personally covered administrative shortages because he didn’t want wounded veterans to suffer while grants were delayed.”
Marlowe’s expression sharpened.
“When was this?”
“Last March,” Vanessa said. “At the Austin gala. He said the board didn’t appreciate what he sacrificed.”
