Dad is back in the vehicle, checking to make sure that we're not accessible by the cameras. He wouldn't share this part of his operation in order to protect whoever he's trying to keep out of the limelight, but he did mention that he had an eighteen-year-old hacker working for him, accessing the security cameras on the iCloud service where it's stored.
The only purpose for this is to make sure that none of the cameras catch us. There are many of them set up, but there are blind spots everywhere. Plus, with the commotion of the move, we're hoping that will add to the complexity of the situation.
We walk carefully through the garden, staying to one side of the willow trees, just like we had mapped out, just like Dad showed us his mapped out version of this plan at that nondescript Motel 6. We enter the house through the sliding door that one of the movers has left open for us, on purpose, another thing that Dad has arranged.
Sometimes I think what would he be like if he had put all of these organizational skills to use in some proper job. Like for one, he'd be an excellent concierge or luxury travel agent, but I guess this sort of thing pays a lot more money.
None of these people that he has dealt with know exactly who he is, as there are two people at least separating the transactions. He will reach out to someone online, a courier, to do a job, and then another job, and then another. The mover dealt with someone directly, but that person is also two people removed from Dad just to make the trail harder to track. That has always been his M.O. and is probably the smartest way to approach any job.
We head downstairs and move the faux bookshelf out of the corner. There's a small lock that Lincoln opens with a key, that Dad also had made.
"I guess he thought of everything," Lincoln whispers under his breath, and I can’t help but agree.
Could this really be this easy?
We open the secret passageway and walk into a cellar. It looks like the wine cellars that collectors have in their mansions, except this one is filled with rare books and artifacts. Many are displayed prominently, but as we scan the room, the folio isn't here.
"Where do you think it is?" Lincoln asks.
I shake my head. We look around. We're both wearing gloves, and I'm careful when I handle the five-hundred-year-old books. Even though many are protected by special boxes, I still feel irreverent when handling them. I've always felt closer to books than to wine and jewelry and other artifacts, even paintings, even though they tend to be worth less out on the open market. We make our way carefully around the shelves, looking through each one before finally facing one another and saying, "Where the hell is it?"
7
Jacqueline
I tried to figure out what to do, where to go from here, how to deal with everything that Sergeant Mallory has told me. The more I talk to Allison and my mom, the more confused I get. I know that Dante's not answering my calls. I've had to keep trying. I have to keep trying to get him back. Of course, Sergeant Mallory specifically prohibits this.
He calls me a few times and tells me that he's arranging to have a conversation with him. But so far, he's not even sure if he's in New York. He tells me to stand down and to let them do their job and I get the sense that this is a statement made mainly in order to protect themselves in a liability situation.
I can't be sure, but I also can't just let this go on. I have to talk to Dante. I know him well enough to know whether he's lying to me or not. As I get dressed that morning, picking out a comfortable pair of jeans and a loose fitting, long sleeve blouse, professional but also with a relaxed fit. I'm going to be spending a lot of time in the car and I need to make this whole situation as easy as possible.
I get a call from Vasko, it's not the secretary this time, it's him directly. I'm tempted to let it go to voice mail but I still want to hold onto that job, so reluctantly I answer. Sitting down on the edge of my bed in my childhood bedroom with a small twenty-five dollar plywood backed mirror across from me, I talk to the CEO of the company that I'm supposedly investigating.
"How are you doing?" Vasko asks immediately and we make a little bit of small talk. I know that this is not his strong suit, so I try to get him right to the point.
"I'm sorry about everything, but there's been a development in my brother's case." I decide to just lay it all out for him, no use keeping it a secret.
"They found the wrong body?" Vasko asks, shocked.
I nod. "Yeah. I have no idea how it happened, how the medical records got confirmed, but I'm here to talk to the dentist to get some more clarity on this whole situation. I'm sorry that it's taking so long and I know that I don't have any more vacation days or anything like that, but I just need to ask you this small favor."
"Yes, of course," he says, without missing a beat. "Stay there another week. Next Friday, give me a call, tell me how things are going, and when you think you can return."
"Thank you. I really appreciate it," I say and hang up.
I wonder if I'm just stringing him along. I wonder if I have any intentions whatsoever of returning to that position. And the truth is that I have no idea. The problem is that it's not just that it's the wrong body that was found in my brother's car. It's more than that. It's that Dante is involved and now I question everything that we ever had.
"How long are you going to be?" Mom asks.
"Don't wait up."
"What about dinner?" She looks distraught, dressed in a bathrobe and pajamas. She hasn't bothered to change since I've been back.
Michael is my brother, but he's her son and they had always been very close. His death devastated her, but it was even more than that. This uncertainty of him not being dead, it's something that my mother is finding very difficult to deal with. We've talked about it briefly and while it makes her very happy, it also makes her incredibly tense.
"I want you to be careful," Mom says, walking over to me and patting my hand.
"Of course I'll be careful," I say, pulling away.
And she grabs onto me and pulls me close. "Whatever kind of business that your brother was involved in, it was clearly very dangerous."
I take a step away from her. "What are you talking about? He was in finance."
"That's what he said he did, but that's not all he did."
I narrow my eyes. What does she know that I don't know?
"What are you talking about, Mom?" I ask her after a long pause.
"Your brother would underwrite loans and invest in companies and organizations that were, let's just say, less than ideal in terms of their credit ratings.”
"No, he didn't. He was a very responsible professional."
"That was one part of him, a part that worked for that hedge fund, but one time when he was here, he’d had too much to drink and he said, 'Do you know how I'm making all this money? You know that it's not all legal, right? I mean, that fund invests in war, and guns, and death, and destruction and we're all just supposed to sit back and accept it.'"
I stare at her, my mouth drops open. She shakes her head and turns away from me. Her cancer is in remission and she's back to her excellent health but at this moment, in this lighting she looks frail and her skin is almost translucent, just like it was when she was sick.