“I wasn’t at first. I thought they’d mismanaged it. But they gave themselves away practically the second I asked the question.” A vein pumped in his neck. “The money’s gone. Stolen and mismanaged. They’d been hoping to patch the budget gap with donations from Oscar’s performance and this new diversity fund—which doesn’t even exist! It was a way to throw donations into the general account so they could fudge the numbers before presenting them to the board. It’s a damn mess.”

“So that’s why Oscar is suddenly the face of Amberley.”

“It’s too much pressure for a seventeen-year-old kid.” He let out a disgusted huff. “It’s too much for anybody.” His eyes slowly rose to meet mine. “You knew it too. The day of Oscar’s interview. All those questions you asked about the school, its finances—but I didn’t want you to take it on. I . . .” He winced. “No. I just didn’t want you to know. I was an asshole. I should have been proud of you, but it was self-preservation and I—”

“What now?” I interrupted gently, wary of how tense Dad had gotten over the course of this explanation. “Are you going to tell anyone? Besides me, I mean.”

“That’s the million-dollar question. Or should I say the eight-hundred-thousand-dollar question.”

“That’s how much . . . wow.”

Dad squirmed to get comfortable. I adjusted his pillow behind his head.

“On the one hand, I’ve got these people, who I’d thought were my friends, who pulled me out of one of the roughest years of my life. On the other, I’ve got my school . . . the victim of this. I’ve got the slight chance they can pull this off and cover the shortfall, get away scot free, my own legacy . . .” He squeezed my hand. “Our legacy intact. Your name, untarnished.”

I don’t care about my name, I thought, but stopped short of saying it. It wouldn’t be a comfort to him. Just a slap.

“And on the other hand,” I murmured instead. “You have your conscience.”

He gazed silently at the divider wall. This was where I usually waited, silent, preserving the maestro’s train of thought.

Not today.

“When I was little and people used to talk about you, your talent, your place in culture, I always thought they were talking about somebody else. Because you weren’t that to me. You were my dad, you know? I looked at you and I saw a good man. The best.”

Dad was crying now. He reached out and I hugged him like he was little now and I was big.

“That’s who you are. Not Amberley. Not your symphonies or operas. You’re a good person.”