“So, the message said something about working for your parents. Did you want to go to work for them?”
“No,” he says curtly before grabbing one of the pieces before us to pop into his mouth.
I stab the last of the potatoes and chew, waiting for him to expound. When he hasn’t by the time I’ve swallowed and taken a sip of wine, I set my glass down and give him a level gaze.
“We promised everything, Enrique. Don’t hold back now.”
He considers me for a long moment, sipping his wine. Finally, he seems to come to some conclusion and sets his glass down, leaning on the table. I instinctively do the same.
“There’s a point in time when all children are disillusioned by their parents, realizing that they are all too human. But sometimes they find out that perhaps their parents are the worst kind of human. I saw that in my biological father.”
I just nod, encouraging him on.
“I suppose all along, I knew that my adoptive parents weren’t perfect. But they did their best to make a show of it. Perfect house. Perfect lifestyle. Perfect family. Perfectly wealthy. Until the bottom fell out on real estate. That was their main source of income, and they were leveraged to the hilt when it happened.”
I sense something coming and take a sip of wine to prepare myself.
“I never would have known, though in retrospect, there were signs. The arguments between them were more frequent. They were gone more often than usual. More indulgent with me, which is to say, indifferent.”
The server comes back with our new round of tapas, and I almost flinch in surprise, being as caught up in this build-up as I am.
We both pull back so he can place the new dishes down and take away the old ones. When he’s gone, we pull back in closer to each other.
“Go on,” I urge.
“A woman came by the house. It was one of those times when they were gone. She was yelling and screaming about my parents having murdered her husband.”
“What?” I exclaim before I can stop myself.
Enrique gives me a dry smile. “Not in the way you’re thinking. It was one of the apartment buildings their company had been involved with constructing during that period. It collapsed. Officially, on the record, which I know they paid a hefty sum to make happen, it was the result of seismic forces, misleading geographical records, anyone and everything to point the finger at besides themselves.”
He stops to grab an encrusted mini log from a dish. I grab one as well. It’s some kind of dough with bits of ham inside. Delicious.
“That’s when I decided to use my skills to find out more about it. I’d never dug into my parents’ business, mostly due to a lack of interest. I was one of the people who had been fooled by all outward appearances. I discovered that for several years, they had cut multiple corners. Lowest bidding contracts, subpar materials, shoddy construction. Most often in the lower end buildings. And one of the pieces in this house of cards had finally fallen.
“I was a teenager at the time, so I had no idea what to do with the information. So I just confronted them. After the usual denials and defenses, they caved, admitting everything. They reassured me that in the years since, money has been paid out, upgrades have been made on all of those buildings, so they are sound. I saw the evidence myself when I went snooping.
“But…five people died in that building collapse. How can money replace that?”
He seems so broken over this, I have this instinctive urge to reach out and stroke his cheek.
“I think back to that period. No one ever knew. They still threw lavish parties, traveled the world…. Our lifestyle didn’t change one bit. All while they were building death traps.”
His eyes, which have glazed over as he reminisced, now sharpen as he gazes at me. “So no, I didn’t want to go to work for my parents.”
I nod with understanding. “And you think it was my father who sent you that list?”
“Who else? Who would want me to target these people? Who would know about what my father is up to?”
“Just because he gave me a name, doesn’t mean—”
“Leira.”
I go quiet, mostly under that penetrating gaze of his. Then I speak up again. “At the very least, it means he’s the good guy. That I was right when I told you he wasn’t involved in drugs, or anything criminal.”
“Possibly.”
“Definitely.”
“You seem so certain.”
“I know my father. Like I said, if he tells me something, it’s true.”
Enrique pulls back, grabbing the last of those rolls to bite into, without saying another word about it.
I sit back and eye the plate of bread with sliced sausage on it before taking one.
“So you graduate college, and it’s summer. All of a sudden, you get this message about the people your father is working with. And you set up this team of fellow pirates?” I ask before taking a bite.
“Pretty much,” he says with a shrug. “It took about a year to pull them all together and coordinate a system. The rest is history.”
“Until now,” I say before taking another bite.
“Until now,” he repeats, taking his sip of wine.
“So, let’s dissect this. Off the top of your head, who do you think it could be that wants to meet with you?”
“Maybe your father?”
A reluctant smile touches my lips. “After everything that’s happened, that wouldn’t surprise me at all.”
Enrique laughs and takes a long sip of wine. “Mira, we have over a week before I have to meet with him. That’s a long grace period. I’d rather not waste it going round in circles trying to figure out who it is. Life is too short. In my case, potentially very short.”
“Don’t say that,” I say quietly.
Something in
