The board of Sterling Biotech announced an independent review before sunset.
By evening, clips of the commencement had spread across every major news network. Analysts focused less on the Ferrari than on Evelyn’s own statements. Child welfare advocates demanded answers. Shareholders demanded to know whether corporate funds had been used for personal surveillance. Former employees began contacting journalists and regulators.
I wanted none of it.
I wanted my daughter.
We left the stage through a private corridor with university staff. Maya was still holding the key.
The moment the door closed behind us, her composure broke.
She folded into me.
“I’m sorry,” she kept saying.
I held her so tightly the envelope crumpled between us.
“What are you sorry for?”
“I didn’t tell you. I was afraid if you knew, you’d stop me.”
“I might have.”
“I know.”
I pulled back and looked at her.
“Why today?”
“Because I knew she would come.”
“How?”
Maya wiped her face.
“Three months ago, her office contacted me through a trust attorney. They offered a private meeting. I refused. Then a courier delivered a letter saying graduation would be ‘an appropriate transition point.’”
My stomach tightened.
“You never told me.”
“I wanted one day where you could watch me graduate without spending every minute afraid she would take me away.”
That answer broke my heart in a new direction.
“Maya,” I whispered, “you are twenty-two. Nobody can take you away.”
“I know that legally.”
She looked down.
“Emotionally, I wasn’t sure I knew it.”
We sat on the floor of the corridor in our formal clothes while people hurried beyond the door.
That was the real confrontation for me.
Not with Evelyn.
