Leo had just reached the bottom of the estate steps when Lucas's car came through the inner gates.
The vehicle rolled to a stop in front of him, not enough to block his path but close enough to make its purpose clear. Lucas stepped out and took one look at his grandfather standing there with his cane, his jacket, and the waiting car behind him.
He understood immediately where Leo was going.
His expression hardened.
"Go back inside, Grandpa."
Leo met his gaze without moving.
"I'm going to the station."
"I know where you're going," Lucas replied. "I'm asking you not to."
"I heard you." Leo nodded toward the driver's seat. "Get in the car. We're going to talk."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Then you can listen."
For a moment neither of them moved. Then Lucas turned, got back into the car, and started the engine. Leo walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. A few moments later, they were driving through the estate gates.
The silence stretched between them as the city rolled past outside.
Lucas wasn't searching for the right words. As far as he was concerned, there were no words left to find. He had made his decision that morning when he called the police. Everything after that was simply people trying to change his mind.
They wouldn't.
Leo watched the streets pass through the window before finally speaking.
"You cannot send a Venzagrase daughter to prison."
"She isn't a Venzagrase daughter."
The response came so quickly that it was clear Lucas had never even considered the possibility.
"She's nobody. A girl who inserted herself into my wife's life, ended up in my house, and now my wife is dead. That's all she is."
"You don't know she's responsible for Sarah's death," Leo said. "The investigation hasn't even—"
"She admitted it."
Leo turned toward him.
"Lucas, she was in shock."
"She wrote it herself. Her car. Her fault. She said it."
"That doesn't mean she understood what happened."
"It was enough for me."
Leo exhaled slowly and looked at his grandson.
"I know it was," he said quietly. "That's the problem."
Lucas glanced at him briefly before returning his attention to the road.
"With all due respect, Grandpa, this isn't your matter."
"Anything and everything that, as do this family name my concern," Leo replied.
"Not this."
The answer was immediate.
"Sarah was my wife. That child was mine. Whatever happened on that road happened to my family, and I'll deal with it the way I choose to deal with it."
The firmness in his voice left little room for argument, but Leo pressed on anyway.
"She can't even defend herself."
Lucas said nothing.
"She's mute, Lucas. She cannot explain what happened. She cannot tell anyone who she is. She cannot answer questions."
"I know."
"Then how can you justify this?"
Lucas's hands remained steady on the steering wheel.
"Very easily."
Leo stared at him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The city continued around them. Traffic lights changed. Pedestrians crossed busy streets. Vendors called out to passing customers. Life moved forward, untouched by the grief sitting inside the car.
At a red light, Lucas slowed to a stop.
A woman stood on the corner holding the hand of a little boy. The child was talking animatedly, his free hand moving through the air as he spoke. His mother laughed and bent her head to listen before brushing her fingers through his hair.
For a few seconds they stood framed in the windshield.
Mother and son.
Safe.
Together.
The light turned green.
Lucas drove forward.
His expression never changed.
If the sight affected him, he gave no sign of it.
"Sarah's death hasn't been legally established as her fault," Leo said quietly.
"I've established it."
"That's not how the law works."
"Then the law can catch up."
His voice remained calm, almost detached.
"Until then, she can sit in that cell and think about what she took."
Leo looked away.
"About Sarah. About my child. About everything that's gone."
The words were spoken without emotion, which somehow made them harder to hear.
"Maybe then," Lucas continued, "something about this will finally feel fair."
Leo felt a heaviness settle in his chest.
Not because Lucas was angry.
Anger could burn itself out.
This was something else.
Lucas had convinced himself that justice and punishment were the same thing.
"My son," Leo said softly.
Lucas's jaw tightened.
"Don't."
"Lucas—"
"I said don't."
His voice didn't rise.
If anything, it became colder.
"I know exactly what you're about to say. I've heard every version of it already, and none of it changes anything. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not until I decide it does."
Leo studied him carefully.
"I am your grandfather."
"I know who you are."
"And I am telling you that what you've done is wrong."
Lucas nodded once.
A small, almost absent movement.
"With respect, I don't care."
There was no anger in the statement.
No cruelty.
No satisfaction.
Just certainty.
Leo leaned back in his seat and fell silent.
For several moments, the only sound was the hum of the engine.
Then Lucas spoke again.
"If you love me the way you say you do, stay out of this."
Leo looked at him.
"That's all I'm asking. One thing. Stay out of it and let me handle my family my way."
"And if I don't?"
Lucas was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "Then you don't."
His eyes never left the road.
"I can't stop you. But understand something, Grandpa. It won't change anything."
The city blurred past the windows.
"She'll be charged. She'll stand trial. Whatever the court decides after that, I'll live with."
A pause.
"But I won't take her back into my house."
Another.
"And I won't forgive her because someone asked me to."
The finality in his voice left no room for misunderstanding.
Leo knew it.
And yet he wasn't ready to stop trying.
A few minutes later, Lucas pulled the car over.
Not outside the police station.
Not anywhere important.
Just a quiet stretch of road in the middle of the city.
He shifted the car into park and finally turned to face his grandfather.
"She doesn't deserve your mercy."
The words came without hesitation.
"Sarah deserved mercy. My child deserved mercy. They didn't get it."
Leo held his gaze.
"I don't see why she should."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Leo searched his grandson's face carefully. He had spent twenty-five years watching that face grow from a boy's into a man's. He knew every expression, every tell, every small sign of uncertainty.
He looked for one now.
A crack.
A hesitation.
Anything.
There was nothing.
Lucas wasn't struggling to convince himself.
He was convinced.
That was what frightened Leo most.
Not the anger.
Not the grief.
The certainty.
"Lucas," he said quietly, "you can't do this."
"I already have."
"Think about what happens next."
"I have."
"The media will tear this apart."
Lucas didn't respond.
"The moment people learn that a woman was arrested from a hospital bed and locked in a cell without being given a chance to explain herself, they'll turn it into a spectacle."
"I don't care."
"You should."
Leo's voice sharpened for the first time.
"This family has spent generations building its name. Every headline will carry the Venzagrase name. Every reporter will have an opinion. Every news station will have a story."
"Let them."
The answer came so quickly it almost overlapped Leo's words.