Evelyn calls three days after the merger announcement.
"I have something for you," she says. "Something that belongs to you more than it ever belonged to my son. Can I come by?"
She arrives at my apartment an hour later, looking smaller somehow. Older. The trial aged her in ways I didn't notice until now.
"Thank you for seeing me," she says, clutching a small velvet box. "I know I'm probably the last person you want reminders of."
"You're not him, Evelyn. You never have been."
Her eyes fill. "I tried to be a good mother. Tried to raise him right. But somewhere along the way, I lost him to whatever darkness his father left behind."
We sit in my living room. She doesn't open the box right away. Just holds it, running her thumb over the worn velvet.
"This was my mother's," she says fin
