Chương 6
“The matter went federal.”
“To which agency?”
“It didn’t.”
She waited.
I exhaled.
“The complaint was withdrawn before referral.”
“By whom?”
“Anonymous source.”
“That’s convenient.”
“It happened.”
Lena’s mouth flattened.
“Do you remember anything about the complaint?”
“Not enough to trust memory after twenty-eight years.”
That part was true.
Fragments came anyway.
Invoices.
A procurement officer with nicotine stains on his fingers.
A conference room that smelled like burnt coffee.
A handwritten note about duplicate subcontractor numbers.
Carol entering my life two years later at a charity 5K where I nearly knocked over a table of orange slices.
Nothing connected cleanly.
Nothing should have.
Emily shifted under the blanket.
“Mom said she left Whitmore because something happened.”
I turned.
“What?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“Did you ask?”
“Obviously.”
“What did she say?”
“That some jobs teach you what kind of person you don’t want to become.”
That sounded exactly like Carol.
Not because it was wise.
Because it was irritatingly incomplete.
“What did Grant say when he brought it up two years ago?”
“He asked whether Mom had ever told me why she quit.”
“And you?”
“I said no.”
“Then what?”
“He dropped it.”
Lena frowned.
“People usually don’t raise a twenty-five-year-old employment history for no reason.”
“He said Richard had mentioned Mom when he found out who my parents were.”
“You married Grant before learning Carol had worked for his father?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“How did that never come up?”
Emily gave me a tired look.
“Because apparently everybody in this family collects information and then waits years to mention it.”
That shut me up.
Lena almost smiled.
Then a knock sounded at the door.
A uniformed deputy stepped inside.
He was young enough that I initially resented him for it.
“Detective Ortiz?”
Lena rose.
“What is it?”
“We’ve got an issue downstairs.”
“What kind?”
“Mr. Whitmore’s attorney arrived.”
“Grant’s?”
“Family attorney.”
“Vane?”
The deputy nodded.
“Charles Vane.”
Emily’s face changed.
“He wasn’t supposed to know I was here.”
Lena looked at her.
“Grant knows where you are.”
“No.”
Emily shook her head.
“I mean Vane wasn’t supposed to know I had spoken to the accountant.”
“Has he said that he knows?”
“No.”
“Then let’s not give him information he hasn’t earned.”
The deputy shifted his weight.
“He’s also asking to speak with Ms. Whitmore.”
Emily’s hand moved instinctively toward mine.
Lena noticed.
“Tell him she’s receiving medical treatment and isn’t available.”
“He says he represents her too.”
Emily’s grip tightened.
“I never hired him.”
I asked, “Have you signed anything appointing him?”
“I don’t know.”
The answer came with visible shame.
Lena cut in before I could react.
“That’s not unusual when a family firm handles multiple entities.”
She looked at the deputy.
“Tell Vane that Ms. Whitmore has not consented to an interview.”
The deputy nodded and left.
I turned to Emily.
“You need independent counsel.”
“I know.”
“I can call someone.”
“No.”
“Emily.”
“I said no.”
The force of it surprised me.
She winced afterward and held her ribs.
“I don’t want one of your investigator friends.”
“A criminal defense lawyer is not an investigator friend.”
“Dad.”
“What?”
“I need somebody who doesn’t owe you anything.”
I felt myself bristle.
That was ego.
I recognized it and disliked it without being able to stop it.
“You think someone I recommend would represent me differently?”
“I think everybody keeps deciding what’s best for me.”
Her eyes reddened.
“Grant does it.”
“Emily, that’s not fair.”
“I know.”
She looked away.
“That’s why I almost didn’t say it.”
The words sat between us.
I could have defended myself.
Instead I picked up the plastic cup, filled it halfway, and handed it to her.
She took it.
“I’ll stay out of choosing.”
Her eyes returned to mine.
“Thank you.”
It felt like losing.
It also felt necessary.
Lena reached for her phone.
“I can have the hospital victim advocate give you a list.”
Emily nodded.
“Okay.”
“No recommendations from me.”
Another nod.
“Okay.”
While Lena made the call, I stepped into the hallway.
I had been there less than thirty seconds when Charles Vane appeared at the far end.
He was smaller than the billboards made him look.
Silver hair, navy suit, no tie, reading glasses hanging from one hand.
He walked with a mild limp I had never noticed in photographs.
A deputy accompanied him.
Vane saw me and stopped.
“Daniel Mercer.”
I had not heard my surname spoken by him before, yet he said it with familiarity.
“That’s right.”
“I’m sorry about Emily.”
“No, you’re not.”
The deputy glanced at me.
Vane did not seem offended.
“Anger is understandable.”
“You bill by the cliché?”
“I bill by the hour.”
The answer was dry enough that in another life I might have liked him.
He slipped the glasses into his breast pocket.
“I would prefer not to have this conversation in a hospital corridor.”
“Then don’t.”
“I’m trying to prevent an already ugly situation from becoming destructive.”
“For whom?”
“For everyone.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The word people use when the answer is really themselves.”
Vane studied me.
“You were good at your job.”
“I’m retired.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
He knew too much about me.
Not because my career had been secret, but because lawyers like Vane did not waste memory on retired state employees without a reason.
“You represent Grant?”
“I represent Whitmore Development.”
“And Emily?”
“That question is more complicated.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“She has been a shareholder and guarantor on several company obligations.”
“Did you prepare those guarantees?”
His expression changed by perhaps half an inch.
Enough.
“You should speak to Emily’s counsel about financial documents.”
“She doesn’t have counsel yet.”
“Then she should obtain some.”
“We agree on something.”
“Probably several things.”
“I doubt it.”
A housekeeper pushed a yellow cleaning cart between us and apologized though neither of us had been in her way.
Vane stepped aside.
May you like
I watched him automatically move his injured leg first.
When she passed, he said, “Daniel, I strongly suggest you avoid making accusations until you understand the larger situation.”
