Page 109 of Dial F for Finance

Hannah signs something fast, hands cutting through the air.

“She says she went with me,” he translates quickly, relief flashing across his face. “So it’s not like I kidnapped her or anything.”

“That is exactly what it is like,” her father says.

“It is a little bit what it is like,” Esteban mutters under his breath, and Helena immediately elbows him.

The program director lifts both hands. “Let’s slow down⁠—”

“No,” Hannah’s father says, leaning forward. “We’re not slowing down. We’re talking about judgment. About risk. About what happens when someone with no right to do so takes my daughter off this property.”

Dustin’s shoulders fold inward.

“I didn’t make her go,” Dustin says again, quieter now.

Hannah signs, more deliberate this time, her eyes fixed on her parents.

“She says that too,” Dustin adds. “She says I didn’t make her.”

“I understood her,” her father replies.

“Then listen,” Dustin says, and there’s something raw in it now, something that doesn’t fit the blazer or the tie or the carefully rehearsed confidence.

Hannah reaches for his hand.

The contact changes the room more than any argument has.

“I’m not a bad boyfriend,” Dustin says, like he needs it recorded somewhere official.

“No one said you were,” the program director says quickly.

“He did.” Dustin points across the table at Hannah’s father. “He thinks I’m bad for her.”

“I think what happened was dangerous,” her father corrects.

“I know I did wrong!” Dustin’s voice cracks on the last word, anger and humiliation colliding so hard it almost knocks the air out of the room. “Everyone keeps saying it. I know.”

He looks at the floor, at his hands, at anywhere but the faces watching him fail.

Helena makes a sound like she’s been punched in the chest. She moves toward him, but Hannah’s mother stands first.

“This is exactly why we need to discuss boundaries,” she says, her voice strained with her own worry. “The impulse control. The inability to recognize⁠—”

“Recognize what?” Helena interrupts, and the Spanish lilt in her English sharpens. “That he loves her? That they made a mistake together? You think your daughter has no agency in this?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Someone needs to put sense in it, then.” Helena’s hands flutter at her sides. “You’re speaking about my son like he is a danger. Like his heart is something to be managed.”

“He took her in a car he cannot legally drive⁠—”

“He drove eleven blocks,” Esteban booms, and the volume makes everyone flinch except Dominic, who doesn’t move, who seems to be holding himself in check by some internal calculus I can’t see. “Eleven blocks with the caution of a funeral procession. You want to crucify him for this?”

“I want him to understand consequences,” Hannah’s father says, and he’s standing now too, the table between them suddenly too small for four adults who’ve forgotten why they’re here. “I want my daughter in a situation where her safety isn’t dependent on someone else’s judgment calls.”

Hannah’s hands move, furious and precise, but her father doesn’t look at her. He keeps his eyes on Esteban, on Helena, on the battle he’s already decided he’s fighting.

“She’s saying something,” Dustin says, his voice thin and desperate. “She’s saying⁠—”