I feel lighter after my late-night talk with Mike, and I can tell it shows. My mother’s expression is relieved when she studies me across the table during dinner. I’m not plagued by memories of last Thanksgiving as we sit and eat. I know I’ll get to see Vivienne at least one more time, and that eradicates any pangs I normally would have experienced recalling her time here last fall.

I arrive back in South Carolina to a massive stack of mail, including the persistent tabloids. I’m glad to see the covers are absent of any mention of me or Vivienne, but I still toss them all in the recycling right away.

An envelope made of thick, expensive-looking paper catches my eye. I inspect it more closely and see that my name and address are written out across the front in calligraphy. A wax seal is holding the back flap shut. I pull it open and wrestle out the piece of paper folded inside. I open it, and a smaller piece of paper flutters to the floor. The full sheet of paper only has five words written in the same fancy script as the address. It reads In case you need it.

I reach down and pick up the smaller paper that fell out. I suck in a sharp breath when I see that it’s a check made out to me. For five million dollars. I pull out my phone and tap on a name.

“Anne Riley.”

“Hi, Anne, it’s Jace Dawson.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. I’m guessing Anne’s recalling our catastrophic last conversation.

“I need to speak with Robert…er, the king,” I add.

“Is he expecting your call?” Anne finally asks.

“I think so.”

“All right. One moment.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, then finally a click.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Jace? How are you?” Robert’s voice comes through the line.

“I’m all right, sir. And you?”

“Fine, thanks.” There’s another pause.

“I just received my mail,” I state.

“Ah. Anything interesting?”

“One thing.”

“I had a visit from Lionel Vanderbilt the other day. He heard you expressed some interest in leaving your football team. I just wanted to ensure you have the means to do so, if that’s what you want.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. And generous,” I reply, trying to decide how to phrase my response so I don’t sound ungrateful. “But I can’t accept it. It’s too much.”

“Jace, what I sent you was the money set aside to renovate our summer cottage. I can assure you my daughter’s happiness is worth much more to me than a new library and patio. But, like I said in my note, the decision to use that money is yours. One of a few choices you’ll need to make soon.”

“I’m aware, sir.”

“Good. Take care, Jace.” The line goes dead.

I can’t use the money Robert sent. But the fact that he sent it fortifies the decision I’ve already made.