Chapter Nine

“You do know you get paid the same regardless of how many hours you work, correct?” Quinn’s voice cut through the silence as I took notes on a deposition I’d been looking over.

I glanced up to see him leaning on the doorjamb of my new office. He wasn’t lying when he said it wouldn’t be any bigger than a bathroom, but it didn’t matter. It was a job. While I never saw myself practicing in workers’ compensation or social security law, it was a welcome change of pace from corporate law, and he’d given me flexibility to branch out into other areas in the future.

“I know,” I responded, smiling. “It’s just a new area for me, so I’m trying to get caught up on procedure and case law.”

“You’ll figure it out, Ellie.” He winked. “Why don’t you call it a night? Most of the staff gets together at The Iron Tap for Happy Hour on Thursdays. You should come.”

I hesitated. I’d planned to go pick out some new furniture for the apartment I just signed a lease on. Now that I had a job with a steady income, I used the rest of my savings to put down the first month’s rent and security deposit on a small studio apartment in a complex a mile or so from the office. I even bought a car.

Mila had insisted it was okay if I stayed with them and continued to use Steven’s car a little bit longer, but there was this part of me that thought if I finally had a job, a place of my own, and a car, I’d be that much closer to fate bringing Dante and me back together.

“Come on,” Quinn urged, sensing my reluctance. “You need a break. Based on your reputation over at Sullivan, I knew you were a bit of a workaholic, but I didn’t think you’d be pulling sixteen-hour days your second week here.”

“I don’t mind. It keeps me out of trouble,” I joked, flashing him a fabricated smile.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, narrowing his eyes at me. Based on the look on his face, I had a feeling he wasn’t going to leave unless I agreed to go with him.

“Fine,” I sighed. “Let me just finish reading this deposition and I’ll meet you there, okay? Fifteen minutes.”

His smile brightened. “Perfect. Are you okay to lock up?”

“You bet.”

“See you in a bit, Ellie.” He pushed off the doorjamb and disappeared down the hallway.

I returned to the papers in front of me, trying to get back into the groove, but my concentration was elsewhere. After about ten minutes of reading words that felt like a foreign language, nothing sinking in, I pushed back from my desk, grabbed my purse, and headed out of the office.

Waving goodnight to the security guard in the lobby, I stepped into the warm California night. The bar was about five blocks up the street and I considered driving, but it was a pleasant evening. I’d spent too much time cooped up in that office trying to get caught up. I could use the fresh air.

I heard my phone beep as I passed a coffee shop and reached into my purse, pulling it out. When I saw Dante had tagged me in an Instagram post, those butterflies that had taken up residence in my stomach began flapping their relentless wings. After learning of his mother’s death, I’d given him space to mourn her, and the posts had stopped for a few days while he did so. But a week ago, they started again, his words and images even more loving, endearing, and sensual, if that were at all possible.

Slowing my steps, I opened the app, biting back the grin struggling to break free as I stared at the exterior shot of the museum in Rome where we’d attended the gala. Memories of what we’d done in one of the bathrooms flooded back and a warmth rushed over me, my cheeks flushing. Then I read the caption.

“Can one desire too much of a good thing?” —William Shakespeare, As You Like It.

“Oh, Dante,” I exhaled. “Why do you have to be so perfect? And so far away?” Looking up, I stared into space, trying to come up with a proper response, when I noticed a familiar car pull up and park a block ahead.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. A black Mercedes wasn’t exactly a rare car in this town. But when I saw my father step out of the driver’s seat and hurry into a shady-looking bar, my curiosity got the best of me. I knew what I was about to do may be incredibly stupid, but I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe I was supposed to leave work early so I could see him. Maybe fate knew I was struggling for answers as to whether or not he was involved in Lilly’s death. If I followed him into the bar, maybe I would get those answers. So that was what I did.

The entire place was dimly lit, the perfect spot for someone who didn’t want to be seen. The air was dank with the faint aroma of stale cigarette smoke, even though I doubted anyone had smoked in here in years. Green carpeting covered the floor, the shade matching the color of the felt on the few pool tables toward the back of the small room. A u-shaped bar made up the center, a dozen or so booths lining the walls. I noticed my father sitting alone in a booth at the very rear of the bar, what I assumed to be a scotch in front of him.

My suspicions only increased with each passing moment that I remained in this place, discreetly studying my father’s demeanor. He had no reason to be in Encino. His office was located in downtown LA, and he lived in Calabasas. The only reason he was even in California on a Thursday was because the Senate wasn’t in session this month. He was normally only home Fridays through Mondays. Given everything I knew about him, it seemed strange he would be at a crappy bar in this town…unless he was up to something.

“Can I help you?” a scruff voice called out, and I quickly snapped out of my thoughts. Stepping toward the bar, I shielded my face with my hair, hoping my father hadn’t seen me.

“Whiskey and soda, please.” I hastily fished my wallet out of my purse, doing my best not to draw too much attention to myself.

“You got it.” The bartender grabbed a bottle off the counter and poured the dark liquor into a rocks glass. After adding a bit of soda, he set it down in front of me. I handed him a $20 bill.

“Keep the change.”

“Rough day?”

“Something like that,” I mumbled in a curt voice, giving off the impression that I wanted to be left alone. Thankfully, the bartender picked up on that. I retreated from him and kept my eyes downcast as I headed down the empty bar, hoisting myself onto one of the stools closer to where my father sat. I carefully glanced over my shoulder at him, sensing his unease and frustration.

For as long as I could remember, he’d been confident, assured, put-together. The way he constantly toyed with the glass in front of him, as if needing something to do with his hands, made me think he was slowly losing control of everything.

I’d only been sitting there a few seconds when the door opened again and a man I estimated to be about fifty hurried inside, a crazed expression on his face. His dark hair was disheveled, his clothes giving the impression that he didn’t care much about his appearance. He could have just been another local needing something to take the edge off after a bad day, but I couldn’t ignore the feeling in my gut that this man was the reason my father was here.

The man scanned the bar, his eyes eventually landing on my father. He immediately rushed toward him and ducked into the booth, keeping his head down. His legs nervously bounced as he bit his nails and glanced over his shoulder, jittery, maybe even a little paranoid.

I quickly snapped my attention back to the Dodgers game playing on the TV hanging over the bar, straightening my spine as I took a sip of my drink. I did my best to keep an ear turned toward my father and this mystery man, hoping to overhear their discussion. I feared if I got any closer, he’d recognize me.

“I’ve been looking through the reports from that night,” the man said.

“You need to stop torturing yourself like this. What good could rehashing that tragic day do?”

“Because nothing about it seems right,” the man retorted, then lowered his voice even more. “With all the shit she had been doing… It’s just a bit suspicious. Cynthia…” He trailed off with a quiver, then recovered. “She had so much to live for. She wasn’t suicidal. She wasn’t depressed. Given the circumstances, she’d remained surprisingly positive…a lot more positive than most people would be in her situation. I just can’t believe she would have taken her own life, not when she was willing to put that life on the line to do what she believed was right.”

My heart seemed to echo in my ears as I leaned closer, glued to this man’s every word. Recalling the background check I found at Brock’s, I realized this man must have been talking about Cynthia Edelman and the night she died. This had to be her ex-husband, Brian, father of her two teenage girls, all of whom she left behind when she allegedly committed suicide. But after overhearing that phone call in Italy and going through the files in Brock’s office, I had a feeling it wasn’t a suicide at all.

“Brian,” my father sighed. “I didn’t want to believe it at first, either. But the medical examiner and the crime scene techs found absolutely no evidence of foul play, no evidence anyone else was in that room. Apart from her own, no fingerprints were found on the gun she used, the gun she just so happened to have bought the previous day. The security cameras also didn’t pick up anyone going near her office around that time. I know how it looks, given what she was involved in. Her death was shocking, but I assure you, it was by her own hand, no one else’s.”

There was a brief pause before either man spoke again. “When I met her for coffee that morning to discuss how much longer she thought it necessary for the girls to stay with me, never did I think it would be the last time I’d see her,” Brian stated, his tone even, flat, lacking any emotion. “I was so broken up at the time that I didn’t question anything. In the back of my mind, I feared this day would come, especially when she said she was planning to come forward with whatever she found out. But now that nearly six months have passed, I can’t help but wonder if you’re lying to me.”

I knew he was lying, especially after finding those surveillance photos of my father walking into Barnes Pharmaceuticals mere minutes before Cynthia had taken her life. It was possible there could be another explanation, but my father had never given me a single reason to trust him. I wasn’t about to start now.

“I have no reason to lie to you, Brian,” my father replied evenly. “I cared about Cynthia, too. Her death hit me hard.”

I struggled not to laugh at his words. It hit him hard all right. Hard enough that he’d want to cover up his involvement in it. I didn’t know how he did it, but not one single security camera in the building picked up on my father entering that evening. But someone did…the same man who took the photo of my father rushing through the front doors just after eight that evening, then another of him leaving approximately twenty minutes later. The same photos Brock had in his desk. If it weren’t for those, I wouldn’t have known he’d even been there. No one would. Who took them? Why did Brock have them? Why hadn’t he gone to the police with this? And who’s side was he on?

“It didn’t seem that way,” Brian remarked.

“You were a wreck, Brian. Someone needed to step in and get things done.”

“And you figured, because of your past with Cynthia, that man should be you?” He paused, then continued. “She told me everything about—”

“I had a feeling she would at some point,” my father interrupted with a heavy sigh. “It was only a matter of time until it came up.”

I strained to hear better, wondering what his past with Cynthia entailed. How long had they known each other?

“The reason she did what she did all those years ago was because of you, so people wouldn’t realize you weren’t this golden boy, this beacon of morality who was going to clean up dirty politics. But I know the truth. You’re just like everyone else. You’d gladly destroy a person’s hopes and dreams in order to achieve your own. You’ve destroyed our family, a family Cynthia wanted for years. She would never leave them. She would never kill herself…” He trailed off, a quiver in his voice.

When I heard a slight rustling, I peered over my shoulder, watching Brian stand from the booth.

“Despite what you’re telling me, what the reports say, I know she didn’t take her own life. I’m going to get to the bottom of what happened, and I don’t care what it takes to do that. I will bring Cynthia’s killer to justice, even if it’s by my own hand.” He quickly spun around and began walking away.

“Brian, wait,” my father called out. I discreetly stole a glimpse at him, watching as he licked his lips, as if debating what he was about to do. Then he sighed, resigned. “She’s not dead.”

Brian immediately stopped in his tracks, slowly turning around. Disbelief and anger rolled over his features, the distaste he harbored for my father as clear as day, his lips curled, his eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you think I’ve been through enough, that the kids have been through enough?” he asked in a quiet but firm voice. “No child should have to sit through her mother’s funeral, then pretend she’s happy when her date picks her up for her senior prom. This was supposed to be the best time in Maggie’s life. Finishing high school. Starting college. Instead, I’ve had to listen to her crying in her room every day about how much she misses her mother. So don’t you dare stand there and tell me it’s all been for nothing, that this is just another one of your mind games, a way to stop me from finally going to the police with what I know, which I should have done back in March.”

“Please, Brian…” My father stepped toward him, his brows gathered in, a pleading look on his face. “If you’ll just sit down and listen to what I have to say, I’ll tell you everything I know. Then, if you still feel the need to go to the police, I’ll drive you there myself.”

A moment of quiet contemplation passed while Brian seemed to weigh his options. Then he headed back toward the booth, retaking his seat.

“If she’s not dead, why would the medical examiner say she was?”

“He owed me a favor. The hardest part was trying to convince you that you didn’t need to see her body. Insisting her face wasn’t recognizable because of the gunshot wound helped.”

Brian closed his eyes, soaking in my father’s version of events, still wary of his trustworthiness.

“Someone must have figured out what Cynthia was about to do, so they put a target on her back. After a car nearly rammed into her as she crossed the street that day after meeting with you, she knew what she needed to do. A friend of mine, who is very good at making people disappear, agreed to help. Someone wanted Cynthia dead, so that’s what we gave them. It was the only way to keep you and your girls safe. If they thought she ran, they’d come after you and your children. We couldn’t let that happen. Faking her death was the only option.”

“You honestly expect me to believe this story? Because a car almost hit her when she was crossing the street?”

“You don’t have to believe anything, but you should. It’s the truth.”

“Where’s your proof?”

My father sighed heavily. “I don’t have any.”

Brian shook his head, his voice filled with disgust. “I can’t help but think you’re blowing smoke up my ass so I won’t look into her death anymore, so I won’t find out the truth that you were responsible for it. Aside from me, you were the only person who knew what she was about to do, who she was about to meet.” He leaned closer, his face less than an inch from my father’s. “She trusted you. She kept your secret for nearly three decades. When this all began, you were the first person she went to. But now…maybe you’re the person behind it all.”

“Nothing could be further from the truth. I want to help her, not hurt her.”

“Then tell me where she is. If your version of events is to be believed, this is one way to prove it.” He leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

My father blew out a frustrated breath, lowering his head. “I can’t. I don’t know where she is.”

Brian threw his head back, laughing sarcastically. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but—”

“This is not a game. It was the only way. We needed to make these people believe she died. More importantly, we needed you to believe she died. If you weren’t mourning her, whoever’s behind this would have grown suspicious. So we did what was necessary. We cut all communication between us. She knows to stay hidden until this is all over.”

“Isn’t that convenient?”

“No. It’s the truth.”

“You wouldn’t know what truth was if it slapped you in the face.” Brian stood again, glowering down at my father. “Your entire life has been built on one lie after another, on manipulating people so they do what you want. The bottom will eventually drop. I just hope I’m around to see you finally pay for everything you’ve done throughout your miserable excuse of an existence.”

He abruptly turned and rushed out of the bar. This time, my father made no move to stop him. Instead, he drew in a deep breath, rubbing his temples. I returned my eyes to the uneventful baseball game on the television, trying to make sense out of what I’d just overheard.

My father wanted Brian to think Cynthia wasn’t dead, but why? So Brian wouldn’t look into her death and discover that he was behind it? So he wouldn’t find out she didn’t commit suicide as he wanted him and the rest of the world to believe? And what was this secret of my father’s she’d been keeping?

I agreed with Brian. It was much easier to believe Cynthia was dead than the story my father concocted about her being in hiding. Not to mention, I knew something Brian didn’t…that my father had sent her threatening emails, ordering her to thwart Dante’s attention or suffer the consequences. Was my father playing both sides? Did he pretend to be a friend when Cynthia came to him with a problem, then put a target on her back when she confessed she was going to finally go public with what was going on? But what was going on? What information would my father kill for to keep quiet? And how did he even know Cynthia?

I felt a slight breeze behind me and glanced to my right, watching my father’s silhouette disappear out the door. I waited for a moment, taking the time to finish my drink. Once my glass was empty, I stood, adjusted my suit, then left. Stepping onto the sidewalk, I looked up and down the street, feeling exposed, wondering if someone knew what I’d been doing, if someone was going to come after me now that I knew something.

Just as I passed an alley on my way back to the office to do some more digging into Cynthia Edelman’s death so I could corroborate or disprove my father’s story, a hand unexpectedly grabbed onto my arm. I screamed, flailing against the figure pulling me into the shadows. A rough hand covered my mouth, trying to silence my cries.

“Shh. It’s okay,” a familiar voice soothed.

I stopped struggling, my breathing slowing as I craned my head and peered into the eyes of the person holding me. Blinking repeatedly, I freed myself of his grasp, smoothing the lines of my suit.

“Dad? What are—”

“I know you were listening in on my conversation in there.”

I remained silent, not making any excuse for my behavior. If anyone needed to explain themselves, it was him.

“It’s okay,” he assured me. “I would have done the same thing if I saw my father park his car in an area of the city he typically wouldn’t be in and walk into a crappy bar.”

“What you said…,” I began, squaring my shoulders, holding my head high. It always worked during negotiations when I wanted to appear more confident and assured than I felt on the inside. I hoped it worked here, too. After what I just heard, I needed to have the upper hand to get to the truth. “Is it true?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest, my eyes narrowed, wanting him to see he couldn’t bullshit me.

“Every word of it,” he answered in a soft tone, his eyes imploring.

“Where is she?” I pushed, relentless. “And what’s this secret of yours she’s been keeping?”

His breath hitched. “Ellie…” His shoulders fell as he shook his head. “I…”

“You can waffle all you want, but I’m done with the bullshit excuses you give me every week that you’re just trying to protect me by keeping me in the dark.” I leaned into him. “I will get to the bottom of this. I won’t stop until I’ve uncovered everything you’ve been involved in, every place you’ve been, every person you’ve ever had dealings with, every back room conversation you’ve ever been a part of. I’ll know it all, including whether or not Cynthia truly is in ‘hiding’,” I said, using air quotes, hoping he’d see how much I struggled to believe his version of events. “So just come clean. Otherwise, I’ll go to the press with what I’ve been able to figure out on my own so far. Negative publicity in an election year is never a good thing.”

He ran his hand over his tired face, seeming to lack the vigor and vitality he usually exuded. He appeared worn, beaten down. I wondered if maybe he was telling the truth. That maybe he put his own neck on the line to help Cynthia hide from all of this. Then again, this man had spent the past thirty years in the political arena. He had perfected the art of lying to the American people. Lying to his daughter was no different.

“I met Cynthia when I went to D.C. after winning my first election thirty years ago,” he explained, resigned. “She was a senior at George Washington University and doing a congressional internship. She had a brilliant mind. I knew she’d grow into a force to be reckoned with on the Hill, but that wasn’t the direction life took her. Instead, after finishing law school, she worked for a few prestigious firms in Chicago, then signed on as in-house counsel for Barnes Pharmaceuticals. When they relocated their home office to California, she went with them. We lost touch over the years as we both built our careers. It wasn’t until about seven years ago that we ran into each other out of the blue. I figured another twenty-something years would go by before we saw each other again, but this time, it was only a few months before she showed up at my office here in California.”

“What did she want?”

He swallowed hard. “She was being blackmailed. Said someone found out about something that had happened years ago and she was being forced to engage in violations of the ethical code to keep this information a secret and her family alive.”

I licked my lips. In the back of my mind, I wondered if my father was the one blackmailing her. “How so?”

“She was told to do whatever necessary to make sure a certain drug, which she refused to share with me at the time, made it to market and stayed there. I told her I’d help try to figure out who was behind it. I had a few suspicions, but nothing came of them. All correspondence and threats came in the form of untraceable envelopes sent to her home address. No fingerprints were left. Any phone calls were from a burner phone. They were good. They knew what they were doing.”

His praise for their efficiency at not getting caught made me sick to my stomach. I wanted to ask about the emails he and Cynthia had exchanged, but decided against it. My father wasn’t aware I knew about those. I needed to keep a few tricks up my sleeve…for now.

“And this secret?”

“I… I can’t tell you. Not yet. Not until I know no harm will come to anyone because of it.”

“Even all these years later?” I lifted a brow, my voice heavy with disbelief.

“Yes, Ellie. Even all these years later.” He gazed upon me fondly, his hand twitching, as if wanting to reach out and caress my skin. “Until I can figure out what’s going on, you have to trust me that this secret is not illegal. It’s just something that may paint me in a…somewhat different light.”

“Trust,” I scoffed. “That’s an interesting word coming from you.”

“I know I’ve never given you a reason to believe me, and that’s on me. I take full responsibility for not being the best father to you. But, for the first time in your life, I need you to take a leap of faith and trust me. I promise, I will eventually tell you everything, but not yet.”

“What information was she going to share with Dante?” I pressed, narrowing my gaze at him.

“When he started calling around, asking about a particular drug they manufactured, the drug she was being blackmailed over, Cynthia got nervous that he’d bring too much unwelcome attention to the company. It goes without saying that these people wouldn’t look too kindly upon that. Luckily, she was able to convince him that it tested well, that there was no evidence to suggest there was anything wrong with the drug in question. But the guilt started to eat her up, particularly when she learned what happened to his daughter. She couldn’t imagine being in his shoes, so she began to look at the reports a little more closely. A small number of patients who had taken the drug in question did die, but reports didn’t say with certainty it was because of the drug. Even if the FDA looked into it, they wouldn’t think anything was wrong.

“She continued analyzing the reports, charting the deaths. There was a slight increase over a short period of time roughly six years ago, around the time she began getting the threats. She concluded that perhaps a batch had been contaminated. It was a newer drug, so she theorized that maybe the CEO or someone else higher up was the one threatening her, considering the board and majority shareholders stood to gain millions, if not billions, of dollars by the success of this drug.”

“And lose even more if it was pulled off the shelves.”

“Exactly. But the numbers indicated this was a small batch of potentially contaminated drugs. It wouldn’t require a massive recall. So she then started looking into other drugs with reports of deaths and charted those. She came up with a list of over a dozen that also exhibited a slight increase in deaths during a short period of time, then evened out. She wouldn’t tell me exactly what drugs were on the list, said she didn’t want to put any more lives in jeopardy. After receiving a threat about eliminating the ‘Dante Luciano problem’, she said she was done playing their game, that she was going to go public with what she knew, consequences be damned, and use Dante to try to diminish any potential blowback on her family.”

“And her claim that this corruption went all the way to the head of the FDA?” I lifted a brow.

“Just something I told her to use to convince Dante to meet with her. James and I have always been close. I knew about his affair with Gabriella and Dante’s animosity toward him.”

I didn’t react, simply absorbing his story as I tried to rationalize it all in my mind. I wondered if Cynthia’s list matched the one I found in Brock’s office.

“Except she never made the meeting.”

“By that time, it was too dangerous. The wheels were already in motion. Someone had tried to kill her on more than one occasion. After the latest failed attempt, I couldn’t risk someone following through. So we faked her death and she relocated somewhere safe, somewhere no one will find her…somewhere I won’t even be able to find her.”

I stepped back, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth as I studied him. Something about his story just didn’t sit right with me. It seemed a little too convenient that Cynthia, who the world thought killed herself before going to her arranged meeting with Dante, was now suddenly alive, but he didn’t want anyone to know and offered no actual proof that she was. If I hadn’t been around his lies most of my life, maybe I would believe him. But I couldn’t, particularly with the knowledge that he sent Cynthia the threatening email. That was the one piece in this puzzle that just didn’t fit, the one piece that threw his story off.

“I know what you’re thinking, Ellie,” he said, cutting through my thoughts. “I’m not the one behind this. I want answers just as much as Cynthia, Dante…you. I couldn’t stomach the idea of anything happening to Cynthia because of…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath to compose himself. If I hadn’t seen him pull the same move during funerals for fallen soldiers, I would have thought it was authentic. Too bad I knew better.

“Why don’t you just go to the authorities?” I hardened my stare, not allowing his caring tone to soften my determination. “And what’s to stop me from doing so if you won’t?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he answered with a defeated sigh. “If that’s what you think you should do, I can’t stop you. I can only beg and plead with you not to. By doing so, you’ll put over a dozen lives at risk…including your own and Dante’s.”

“It’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it? You know how much I care for him, so you want me to think his life could be in jeopardy if I do something to bring any attention to whatever this is.”

He tilted his head, the stoic politician returning. It was obvious he was becoming more and more frustrated with my questions the longer we spoke. “I’m not quite sure gambling with a person’s life is the way for you to learn I’m speaking the truth, but if you’d like to see for yourself, be my guest. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s a miracle he wasn’t killed when he showed up for his meeting with Cynthia. I’m still not sure why, considering these people had to know he looking into this.”

I glared at him, my eyes unwavering, an internal tug-of-war waging inside as to what story to believe. When I overheard Dante’s conversation that day in Italy, I was convinced my father was involved. It made sense then. Now I wasn’t sure about anything. This man was my father. Despite everything, there was this small part of me that wanted to think he wouldn’t be involved in something so manipulative and devious. But if he wasn’t, why would he send those emails to Cynthia, threatening her to put an end to the “Dante Luciano problem”, as he referred to it? Until I could figure out which story to believe, I needed to remain guarded. It was the only option.

“Why wouldn’t she just come forward with what she knew?”

“The same reason she allowed herself to be blackmailed in the first place. She’s worried for the safety of her loved ones. She needs to stay hidden and alive so when we figure out who’s behind all of this, we can bring them down. Until then, it’s important she remain in hiding.”

“You have to realize how absurd this sounds.”

“Ellie…” He placed his hands on my biceps, his eyes sincere. It was a new look for him. “I know I haven’t exactly been the best father to you. I put my career first when I should have been putting you first. It was the only thing that…” He trailed off, as if recalling painful, yet happy memories.

“The only thing that what?” I pressed.

He snapped back to the present. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll never get that time back. But I can do everything in my power to make things right going forward. And that’s exactly what I plan on doing from here on out. That will have to be enough reassurance for you for now.”

Before I could argue with him any further, he wrapped his arms around me, taking me by complete surprise. I couldn’t remember the last time my father hugged me when there weren’t cameras. It was probably before I entered adolescence, when he was full of so much life and zeal…before public office took its toll on him. I wished I could melt into his arms and have the father-daughter relationship I always dreamed of and wanted. I still had too many unanswered questions. My father had always been able to spin a good story. For all I knew, he just told me a whopper of a tale. This man had already fooled me once. I wasn’t going to let him do it again.