Sawdust covered his shirt.
In his hands was one of Dad’s old hand planes.
Derek looked at me.
Then at Dad.
Nobody spoke.
Finally he set the plane down.
“So you came.”
“I came three days ago.”
His face tightened.
“You saw the house.”
“Yes.”
He looked ashamed.
That mattered more to me than I expected.
“I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can.”
Dad stepped between us—not physically separating us, simply reminding us he was there.
“Explain without defending,” he said.
Derek nodded.
For the next hour, he tried.
He admitted borrowing money he had no right to borrow.
He admitted letting Veronica take too much control of the household.
He admitted that after the refinancing failed, he panicked.
He had convinced himself that if the Bellweather contract succeeded, he could repay everything before anyone knew.
“And the storage room?” I asked.
His eyes lowered.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
