I thought the conversation was ending.
Walter had stopped questioning my memory.
Gerald had admitted signing the agreement.
And I had said we could leave the matter alone for the evening.
I believed that might be enough.
But Gerald wasn't finished.
He looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
Then he spoke.
"You're not going to keep bringing this up, are you?"
I turned toward him.
"I haven't decided what comes next."
He leaned forward.
"That's exactly what concerns me."
I looked at Walter.
He hadn't spoken.
His eyes were fixed on Gerald.
For a moment, I wondered whether Walter wished Gerald had remained quiet.
Then I looked back at Gerald.
"What concerns you?"
He shook his head.
"I don't want this turning into some kind of dispute."
The word stayed with me.
Dispute.
We had spent the evening discussing something both men knew existed.
They had acknowledged the signatures.
They had acknowledged the meeting.
And Walter had acknowledged where the agreement had been kept.
Yet Gerald was still speaking as though I was creating a problem.
I felt tired of that.
Not angry in the way I might once have been.
Just tired.
"Remembering a document isn't starting a dispute."
Gerald opened his mouth.
Then he closed it.
Walter finally spoke.
"Terry has made her position clear."
I turned toward him.
Had I?
I had reminded them of an agreement.
I had insisted that the facts not be dismissed.
But I hadn't made a demand about its terms.
I hadn't even described its contents.
I wondered what position Walter believed I had taken.
"Have I?" I asked.
He looked at me.
"What else would you call this?"
I considered him.
"A conversation about something we all know happened."
Gerald gave a quiet sigh.
Walter didn't answer.
I looked down at my hands.
They were resting together on the table.
I had kept them there throughout most of the discussion.
It was a small way of controlling my nerves.
I didn't want to gesture too much.
I didn't want my emotions to become more noticeable than my words.
Looking back, I felt a little sad about that.
I had been so careful.
Careful with my voice.
Careful with my questions.
Careful not to say more than I knew.
And still, both men seemed to believe I had done something improper.
I looked up again.
"Do either of you think I'm mistaken about the agreement?"
Walter answered first.
"No."
Gerald looked at him.
Then he shook his head.
"No."
The answer was simple.
It should have been simple from the beginning.
I nodded.
"Then that's settled."
Walter's face changed slightly.
He seemed uncertain whether he was relieved or troubled.
I couldn't tell.
And for once, I didn't feel responsible for finding out.
Gerald reached toward the table.
He adjusted the position of something near his chair, then withdrew his hand.
I could see that he was restless.
He had been restless since I mentioned the attorney.
Michael Bennett.
I kept returning to that name in my mind.
Not because I knew something new about him.
I didn't.
But because an attorney's office was not a place where people casually exchanged meaningless signatures.
There had been a purpose to the meeting.
There had been paperwork.
There had been a decision to store the agreement securely afterward.
I didn't need to invent an explanation for those things.
The document itself would contain the explanation.
Walter spoke again.
"Whatever you think this means, we need to be sensible."
I met his eyes.
"I agree."
He looked at me for a moment.
I wondered whether he had expected an argument.
"Then you understand this concerns the company."
"Yes."
"And company matters can be complicated."
"I understand that too."
Gerald watched silently.
Walter seemed to search for another way to make his point.
I waited.
He finally said, "You can't simply make assumptions."
I nodded.
"That's why the agreement matters."
He looked away.
It was the same pattern again.
He wanted to discuss what I might believe.
I wanted to discuss what the document actually said.
Those were different things.
I could believe something and be wrong.
Walter could insist on something and be wrong.
Gerald could remember something differently from both of us.
But the agreement had been written down.
It had been signed.
And it had been stored.
That was why I kept returning to it.
Not because I wanted to cause trouble.
Because I wanted to know what had been agreed.
Gerald cleared his throat.
"I think we've all had enough of this."
I looked at him.
"Then we can stop."
He seemed startled.
I wasn't trying to prolong the evening.
I had never wanted an endless conversation.
I only wanted them to stop treating a real agreement like an inconvenient memory.
Walter placed both hands on the table.
"Terry."
I turned toward him.
He paused.
I waited.
Then he asked, "What are you going to do?"
I felt my breathing become shallow for a moment.
There was something different about the question.
Earlier, he had asked what I wanted.
Then he had asked why I had raised the subject.
Now he was asking what I intended to do.
I didn't want to answer carelessly.
I knew the agreement existed.
I knew where it had been kept.
I knew both men had signed.
But I wasn't going to pretend I had already settled every question about its meaning.
"I think we should deal with what the agreement actually says."
Walter studied me.
Gerald looked down.
Neither answered.
I continued.
"Not what either of us remembers it saying."
Walter's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You're suggesting we review it?"
"That would be more sensible than arguing about it."
He didn't respond.
I watched his face.
For a moment, he seemed older than he had at the beginning of the evening.
Not physically different.
Just less certain.
The confidence that usually came so easily to him had become harder to maintain.
I felt no satisfaction in seeing that.
I had once believed his confidence protected both of us.
Now I wasn't sure what it had protected.
Gerald spoke quietly.
"This isn't necessary."
I turned toward him.
"Why not?"
He looked at Walter.
Then back at me.
"We know what happened."
I nodded.
"Then reading it shouldn't be a problem."
He said nothing.
I hadn't intended to corner him.
But I was no longer willing to accept an explanation that depended on me not asking questions.
Walter leaned back.
The wineglass was still on the table.
I noticed that he hadn't finished his wine.
It was a small detail.
It shouldn't have mattered.
But I remembered how casually he had held the glass when the conversation began.
And how quickly he had put it down when I named Michael Bennett.
His hand had told me something his words were trying to conceal.
He was worried.
I didn't know exactly what he feared would happen.
I couldn't honestly claim that I did.
But I knew the mention of the signed agreement had changed him.
Gerald rubbed his hands together once.
Then he rested them on his knees.
"Terry, don't turn this into a game."
I looked at him for a long moment.
He had returned to the same accusation he made near the beginning.
A game.
As though I was speaking merely to provoke them.
As though I was amused by the tension.
As though the truth depended on whether he approved of my reason for mentioning it.
I wanted to laugh.
Not because I found it funny.
Because I couldn't believe we were still having that argument.
I looked at Walter.
Then I looked at Gerald.
"I'm not playing with either of you."
My voice was quiet.
I meant every word.
"I remember the meeting. I remember both signatures. I remember the agreement being kept in the bank."
Gerald looked away.
Walter remained still.
"Those things happened," I said.
Neither man objected.
I waited another moment.
Then I spoke again.
"And I won't pretend they didn't."
The silence that followed felt different from the earlier ones.
Before, I had been waiting for Walter to acknowledge something.
Then I had been waiting for Gerald.
Now I wasn't waiting for either man to give me permission to believe my own memory.
They had already confirmed it.
I looked down at the table.
The wineglass was exactly where Walter had left it.
Nothing about the room had changed very much.
The chairs were still there.
Gerald was still sitting across from me.
Walter was still watching me.
But something important had shifted.
At the beginning of the evening, Walter had behaved as though the agreement was too private for me to discuss.
Gerald had treated my questions as trouble.
Both had acted as though the past could be put away simply by refusing to speak about it.
Now they had admitted the essential facts.
There had been an agreement.
They had signed it.
And it had been placed somewhere safe.
I wasn't going to claim that those admissions settled everything.
They didn't.
The document still had to speak for itself.
But the conversation had answered one important question.
I had not imagined what happened in Michael Bennett's office.
Walter knew it.
Gerald knew it.
And now both men knew I would not allow the agreement to disappear into silence.
I looked at Walter one final time.
He had stopped reaching for his wine.
His eyes remained on mine.
There was no anger in his expression now.
No easy confidence.
No dismissive smile.
Only the look I had recognized when I first mentioned the papers.
Fear.
I understood that much.
And for that evening, it was enough.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: Walter Finally Admitted He Remembered the Agreement, but His Next Question Told Me He Was Afraid of More Than My Memory
The Night Walter Asked About the Old Agreement, I Finally Saw the Fear He Had Been Trying So Hard to Hide
Part 4 of 8
