Chelsea had left early — “a headache,” he said, and we both knew it wasn’t a headache.
“You could have destroyed me tonight,” he said quietly. “In front of everyone. You had it in your hand.”
“I know,” I said.
“Why didn’t you?”
I thought about twenty-seven years.
About the pot roast and the yellow tabs and the winter I wrote the engine.
“Because I’m not trying to win, Gerald,” I said. “I already lost the thing I thought I wanted.
I’m just done letting you tell people I was nothing.
There’s a difference between revenge and the record being correct.
I only ever wanted the record correct.”
I got my coat.
“Goodnight, Gerald.
Tell Chelsea the engine’s holding up fine.
I built it to last.”
PART 5 — FINAL
Here is what I did with the rest of it.
The licensing payments from Meridian were substantial — Ruth negotiated a number that was fair to the hundred and forty employees and generous to me.
