Look Closely (29 page)

I made a barely perceptible dip of my head, unable to tel him to stop, unable to encourage him to continue.

“My son, Henry, who I cal ed Laddy in private, was a sweet boy.” He rubbed the top of his walking stick, his knuckles turning pink from the tight grip. “He was a little too sweet, unfortunately. Took everything personal y, if you understand me. He was very sensitive. His mother and I managed to get him into a university out East. We were hoping that col ege and some time away from home would toughen him up. He was supposed to help me run the company one day. But he didn’t handle col ege wel , either. Got mixed up with the wrong folk, started taking drugs. Cocaine, they tel me, which I consider a fool’s drug. But then it turned out that my son was a fool.”

Mr. Fieldings took a breath. He rubbed his hand over the top of his walking stick some more. “Goodness,” he said, “this is tough, even after al these years.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I was stil waiting for my father to come back into the story. When I glanced at Eden, she was looking down, twisting a napkin in her lap.

“We got a phone cal one night from the police station near the university. They’d arrested Henry. He was involved in some…” Mr. Fieldings rubbed his lips together, seemingly searching his mouth for the right words. “I don’t know what you’d cal it. A ring, I suppose. A prostitution ring for men who like other men.”

Eden made a tiny gasp. Her father looked at her implacably. “Not now, Eden.”

“Wil Sutter,” he said to me, “was the first person I cal ed. He was doing wel for me, so I thought, and I asked his advice. And he handled the Henry situation for me. He had the charges dropped, the records sealed. We got Henry into a drug center. We stil had hopes for him. We thought he could clean himself up and get his act together. And life returned to normal for a while, until McKnight cal ed me that day. He knew about Henry.”

“Mr. Fieldings,” I said, relieved to find my voice and a point that I could argue. “That doesn’t mean my father told him the information. Mr. McKnight could have easily learned about your son’s arrest from an investigator.”

“I’m not a fool, my dear,” he said. “Obviously, I thought of that. But you see, it was that first phone cal from McKnight that made me realize he had learned this from your father. He cal ed my son Laddy. That was my nickname for him, no one else’s, and I didn’t use the name in public. But I’d told your father that when I cal ed him upset that night. Your father knew.”

“I’m sorry, but I stil don’t think that’s enough. I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“I confronted your father. He admitted to me what he’d done.”

“What?” I said. My voice was too loud, echoing through the parlor.

Mr. Fieldings’s wrinkled face seemed to tighten around the jaw with the memory. “He would never tel me why, but he admitted it.”

“Then why didn’t you cal the Attorney Disciplinary Committee if you were so sure? Why not turn him in?”

“My dear, don’t you see? If I turned in your father, then I would have to come clean about my son. And if I did that, my family would have been ruined. I stil had hopes that Henry would take over the reins from me. McKnight promised that he would keep me on after the sale. He led me to believe that he’d always have a Fieldings on the board, that kind of thing. I wanted to believe him. I wanted my son to have the chance to fol ow my legacy. So you see, I couldn’t tel anyone. I did what I had to do. I sold the company.”

“And your son?” I asked.

Mr. Fieldings was quiet for a few long seconds. “Laddy died seven years ago of an overdose. That’s why it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve lost my son, I’ve lost my company. My wife is gone. I have nothing left, you see?”

Onthecouch,Edencriedsoftly.
Andwhatabout your daughter?
I wanted to ask. But al I could do was thank Mr. Fieldings for his time and for sharing his story. When I left the house, the sky was dove-gray and thick with rain. I walked to the cab, ignoringthedropsthatsplashedmyface,andItold thecabdrivertotakemetoMcKnightheadquarters.

23

As the cab sped south down Lake Shore, heading back to the Loop, I dug frantical y through my briefcase for my cel phone. I dialed my father’s office. I missed a number and got a message for someone named Glenn. “Shit!” I said, squeezing the phone tighter, dialing the numbers again with more caution.

The phone rang and rang, and final y my dad’s voice mail picked up. I hit zero and waited for Barbara, my father’s longtime secretary, to answer. But I got her voice mail, as wel .

“Shit!” I yel ed again. The cabbie eyed me in the mirror.

My frustration made me weepy, a few tears clouding my eyes. I hit zero again, and rol ed the window down, letting the damp breeze blow on my face, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

I final y reached the Gardner State receptionist and asked her to page my father. After what seemed like ten ful minutes, he came on the line. “Hailey, sweetie,” he said, “where are you?”

“Did you give Sean McKnight information to blackmail the Fieldings family?”

Silence.

“Dad?”

“I’m here.”

“Answer the question.” My voice came out hard and even, as if I was talking to a witness at a deposition.

“It was a long time ago.”

“So what?” I yel ed.

More silence. I had never raised my voice around my father.

Final y, he said, “You know as wel as I do that it shouldn’t be admissible in court.”

“Are you admitting it then? You used confidential information and gave it to the opposing side?”

“Leave it alone, Hailey.”

“Leave it alone? What are you talking about?”

The rain was coming harder in the taxi window now, but I didn’t move to close it.

“Miss?” the cabbie said, “are you al right?”

“Al of it,” my dad said. “Just leave it alone. Please.” Was he crying or was it the sound of my own tears?

“Please,” he said. “Please. Please.” And he hung up.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered. I rol ed up the window. I wiped my eyes. I lifted the phone and tried my dad’s number again, then went through the same five-minute process of getting a message, waiting for the receptionist and having him paged. As each second ticked by, I felt as if I wanted to jump out of the cab, I wanted to scream. Instead, I tapped my fingers on the armrest. Tap, tap, tap, tap. But he didn’t come to the phone this time.

Final y, I reached Barbara. “You just missed him,” she said.

“Where did he go?”

“Out of town for a meeting. Didn’t he tel you?”

“No,” I said abruptly. My mind was so cluttered that I couldn’t even dredge up any pleasantries. “When is he getting back?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure? What do you mean?” Like my secretary, Barbara was exceedingly efficient and fiercely loyal to my father. Not knowing his precise schedule was unheard of.

“He’s not sure how long the meeting wil take,” Barbara said. “Maybe a few days.”

“A few days? Where is he?”

“I can’t say.”

“Barbara, it’s me, for Christ’s sake. I need to talk to him.”

“I’m sorry, Hailey, but he was explicit. No one is to be given information about where he is. And to be honest,
I
don’t even know al the details.”

“Seriously, I need to talk to him immediately. This is important!”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Time for a lie, I thought. Why not? There were so many out there already. “Barb, I need to talk to my father. I’ve just been to the doctor, and I’ve learned some bad news. Real y bad. I can’t go into it specifical y, but this is grave.”

“Didn’t you just talk to him?”

“Yes, but I got cut off before I could tel him.”

“Oh. Wel , I’m sorry. Are you going to be al right?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Jesus,” Barbara said under her breath. “If he wants to fire me, you’l have to find me a job.”

I wished I could laugh, but the impulse only had the opposite effect—I wanted to cry again. I said nothing, made not a sound.

At last, Barbara said, “You know your dad doesn’t have a cel phone. Makes me crazy. And I don’t have hotel information, but I can tel you that he’s going to New Orleans. And I’ve got a phone number. You ready?”

“Yes,” I said.

As she recited the number, I knew I didn’t have to write it down. I already had that number memorized.

“He’s not in,” McKnight’s secretary said. She smiled at me sweetly. “Can I have him cal you when he returns?”

I looked behind her to the light maple door of his office. It was closed, a crack of light at the bottom. When I had been there this morning, the door had been open, the office dark.

“No, no message,” I said.

She smiled again and returned her attention to the computer. But instead of leaving, I charged around her, moving fast for his door before she could stop me. I pushed the door open, and sure enough, there was McKnight, ensconced behind a contemporary glass desk, looking up blandly from a stack of papers. Strangely, there was little else on his desktop except for that stack. A neat freak, I thought, apropos of nothing except my growing hatred of the man. Behind him, a huge window showed a skyscraper to the left and the lake behind that, gray now and turbulent with rain.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. McKnight!” the secretary said, bursting into the room. “I told her you weren’t available. I said that—”

“That’s quite al right, Mary,” McKnight said, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Wel , I’l cal security.” The secretary sounded nervous. “I’l have them waiting outside.”

“That won’t be necessary,” McKnight said. “Ms. Sutter has been punishing herself enough, I believe.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said loudly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the secretary tiptoe quickly to the door and close it behind her.

“Wil you have a seat?” McKnight gestured to a white couch to the right of his desk.

“Why didn’t you tel me you knew my father?” I crossed my arms and remained standing.

“You never asked.”

“Did he give you information to blackmail the Fieldings family?”

McKnight drew his head back, a barely perceptible movement. He looked surprised. “Now that you mention it, yes.”

“Why didn’t you tel me that before? Why did you have me working for you if you were going to keep that information from me? Is this some kind of game to you?” I had a mil ion other questions, a thousand other accusations, but I couldn’t get them to form a logical queue in my mind.

“On the contrary.”

“Tel me what is going on here!”

McKnight opened his hands wide, as if to show he was hiding nothing.

“Why did you hire me?” I lowered my voice.

“You’re supposed to be the best, right? Al those articles about the cyber-law wunderkind.” He sat back in his chair and folded his hands on his lap. “And I suppose I wanted to meet you.

I wanted to see how you’d turned out.”

The personal tone of his voice chil ed me. “You have a house in Woodland Dunes,” I said.

He nodded.

“And you knew my parents when we lived there.”

“Bravo, Hailey Bel e,” he said.

I coughed involuntarily. Hailey Bel e was what my mom used to cal me, a shortening of my ful name, Hailey Isabel e. “You were involved with my mother,” I said. A trembling in my stomach, spreading throughout the rest of my body. I crossed my arms tighter, fearing I might start shaking al over.

“Yes, I was,” McKnight said.

“Oh, God.” I remembered Walter Fieldings’s comment about my father’s personal vendetta againstMcKnight.“That’swhymydadhatedyou.”

“Does he hate me? Too bad.”

“Of course he does! Doesn’t everyone? Do you know anyone who cares for you, who even likes you?” I was yel ing again.

“Your mother did.”

The logical side of my brain clicked into gear.

My mother in her blue suit, saying, “Caroline is here. She’ll watch after you.” The sound of two long car horns.
“You were there that night. You came to pick her up on the night she died.”

“Good work, Hailey Bel e.”

“Don’t cal me that!” I unfurled my arms and strained toward him.

He laughed. He actual y laughed at me, and my anger zinged into something sharper. I saw more flashes from that night.
My mother clutching her head, answering the door. The hand
on her shoulder. That ring with the black diamond inset. The man catching her as her knees buckled, his dark-haired head leaning over her.

And then something else shifted into focus. Maddy. That same ring on her nightstand. “Have you been dating my friend, Maddy?” I said incredulously.

“Yes, she’s quite lovely.”

“My God! Don’t tel me that’s a coincidence.”

“I wouldn’t think of it, although I would cal it a convenience.”

“Areyousick?”Iyel ed.“Areyoufuckingsick?”

“Some might say. But no, I’m quite wel .”

“Did you use my mother, too? Did you seduce her so you could blackmail my father and then blackmail the Fieldings?”

He looked surprised again, his eyebrows arched. “My. You
are
smart, aren’t you? I haven’t been giving you enough credit.” He swung around in his chair and gazed out the window. Rain was pelting it now, fog starting to obscure the view of the lake. “It may have started out that way. I saw your mother walking the beach night after night. She was a very attractive woman.”

He glanced at me as if waiting for a reaction.

“And?” I said sarcastical y, angrily.

“And your father was rarely around. I knew your father represented Fieldings, and so yes, I thought if his wife had an affair, he might want to keep it quiet. But you should understand one thing.” He turned back and leaned forward on his desk. “I grew to love your mother very, very much. Her death destroyed me.”

I scoffed.

He looked at me with eyes that could cut. “I loved your mother.” He enunciated each word. “And the night she died I told her, very briefly, what I’d done. I told her that I’d set out to use her as a pawn, but I’d fal en in love with her.”

“And Maddy? Why? Why did you do it?” I thought of Maddy’s excited face, her happy eyes when she talked about “Grant.” “Were you trying to keep tabs on me?”