Adrian's first long message arrived on Sunday morning. He began by saying he was sorry Nia had been hurt, a construction she had translated often enough to recognize its careful distance from responsibility. He explained the pressures of publication, the years he spent revising, and his belief that she had moved on. He reminded her of the first rejected submission and the uncertainty surrounding their informal arrangement. Then he asked her to remember their friendship before allowing lawyers to define it. Nia forwarded the message to Rosa and walked to the laundromat. Clothes still needed washing. She could not spend the entire weekend sitting beneath sentences designed to make answering them feel disloyal.
When she returned, Rosa had identified a factual claim requiring clarification. Adrian said he sent Nia a final invitation to rejoin the project before submitting it. He had attached a draft message, not evidence it was delivered. Nia searched her accounts and found nothing. Rosa requested the original transmission record. Adrian later acknowledged the message remained in his drafts. He had imagined sending it so often that he remembered the decision as an action. Nia understood that kind of private revision. She had imagined following up more forcefully, imagined visiting editors, imagined refusing to let the work disappear. None of those imagined actions changed the email history. His did not either.
The publisher appointed two independent specialists to compare the manuscript histories and assess contributions. Their work would inform an editorial and contractual review, not replace legal advice or pronounce a public verdict. Nia supplied copies through Rosa, retaining originals. Adrian supplied his drafts. Lin's agent authorized access to the relevant Mandarin versions. Clara paused shipment while the initial comparison proceeded. The decision cost money and irritated the sales team. Retailers had ordered copies for events. Miles's foundation had purchased two thousand for donors. Clara issued a brief notice citing an unresolved credit matter without repeating private allegations. It was less satisfying than an accusation and more responsible than pretending the dinner had never happened.
Nia's brother, Jordan, visited after his rehearsal. He played bass in a band that sometimes earned enough to argue about taxes. When Nia described the draft email, he stared at the wall. "We had a guitarist who thought wanting to pay us counted as payment," he said. "I don't recommend the system." She laughed for the first time that day. Jordan asked whether she wanted him to post a defense. She said no, then explained the public statement Rosa had approved. He read it and offered to help with dinner instead. Music had taught him something useful about support: another person's solo did not require him to play louder.
Fang invited Nia to meet Lin at their hotel. Marcus would attend remotely, and Nia could bring a representative. Nia asked Helen to join. The author wanted to understand the work without turning the meeting into an informal trial. Lin said she had approved the English sample under Adrian's name, believing it represented his translation. Nia recognized the pages as hers with revisions. Lin asked why Nia had never contacted her directly. Nia explained the agent handled submissions, Adrian managed their correspondence, and she feared breaching professional boundaries. Lin nodded, then said boundaries should never become an excuse for allowing one person to control everyone's access to the truth.
It was a difficult observation because it implicated the author's team too. Fang admitted they had accepted a simplified account of the translation process because it saved time. They knew books required many hands. They had still allowed a single name to stand without asking the obvious question when earlier correspondence mentioned a collaborator. The relevant message had remained buried in a forwarded chain. Fang found it after the dinner. Nia felt both vindicated and weary. Her existence had not been an impossible secret. It had been information that nobody important found urgent enough to clarify. Lin apologized for her part in that neglect. She did not ask Nia to comfort her afterward.
They discussed one passage from the novel, a scene in which a daughter refuses to open a letter. Nia explained why she preserved the repetition rather than varying the English verbs. "You heard the stubbornness." Nia said she had spent two days deciding whether it was stubbornness or fear. "Both," the author answered. Their conversation became absorbed, technical, and unexpectedly pleasant. Adrian's absence remained a fact, but he stopped occupying every thought. For twenty minutes, Nia remembered why she loved translation before it became an argument over credit. Then Helen asked a question about rhythm, and Lin asked Nia to read her version aloud. Nobody offered money for the performance.