“I worked for my father for many years.” Richardson speaks softly, with precise, thoughtful phrasing. “All my life I’d thought he was an honest public servant. I even accepted his erratic, harmful behavior as a parent because he was, as far as I knew, doing good in the world. That’s what he had trained me to believe. So when I found out that he’d stolen public funds, for me, it was such an incredible betrayal. Even if he thought it was for the right reasons, he had taken control of my life in this awful way that was harmful to other people. I had no say in the matter. I couldn’t go back in time and change it.”

On the table before her, she’s placed three framed photographs, all with her mother, Catherine, and younger sister, Wallis. “The only way I could think of dealing with it was to be silent. Speaking out, seeing the words written on the page or aired across television screens, would have confirmed just how wrong I’d been about my father, and how so much of my life had been lived based on a lie.

“And, honestly, I thought there had been power in silence. I felt that by even being able to make this choice not to speak, I’d regained some control of my own life, at a time when control was in short supply. I realize now that was me just taking the easy way out. Because I did have power. But instead of using it to be open, accountable, I used it to bury truths that were inconvenient to me—painful, yes, but also inconvenient. In staying silent, I had become like my father...

“We are in the process of paying back all we can of the money Gregory owes this country, but I can’t give back the time I spent trying to conceal his mess so no one would find it. And that’s what I regret most. I hope by speaking out I can begin to reckon with my father’s actions and, in whatever small way, make it easier for those who find themselves in similar positions. Because nothing good in this world was made so by a woman keeping her mouth shut...”

Thirty-Eight