Chapter 23 - ROBERT’S FUNERAL
Dad died at seventy-three.
Heart attack.
Sudden.
By then we had rebuilt enough that grief arrived cleanly complicated.
He spent his final decades outside executive control.
Consulted occasionally.
Taught estate professionals about conflict disclosure.
Never presented himself as hero whistleblower.
When introduced at conferences, he required biographies to mention his obstruction conviction.
I once asked why.
“Because if I teach document ethics while hiding that, I’m repeating it.”
Good answer.
At his funeral, Rebecca spoke.
Daniel.
Me.
Vivian sat in the front row despite divorce? They never divorced. Their marriage survived her incarceration, barely. Strange.
Mom and Dad had separated for two years after the case.
Then reconciled with therapy.
Their choice.
Not mine.
I spoke about Dad teaching me to ride a bike.
Then about his worst habit:
waiting until conflict became unavoidable.
People shifted.
Funeral speeches do not require sainthood.
I said:
“He learned that peace purchased with someone else’s ignorance is not peace.”
Mom cried.
So did I.
Dad left no secret box.
No final document.
No hidden fortune.
May you like
His will was boring.
Thank God.
