Penelope’s mention of ghosts and graves is distressingly apt for the realization that just blindsided me. What will Joe do if Billy and Rick win? Would their victory be a death sentence for my daughter? My mind swirls from one depressing thought to another while I imagine a slew of frightening possibilities. I take Penelope’s hand and lead her to my desk after we finish putting my office back together. After she settles into a guest chair, I lean my butt against the desk and look down at her. “We need to talk.”
“About?”
I walk around the desk and drop into my office chair, then dip my head and rub my temples while I search for the words to tell my partner that we can’t win the R & B case… at least not yet. Do I tell her everything? Does she need to know about Matteo Giordano? In the end, I realize there’s no way to dance around the crux of the problem, which is Joe’s demand that we throw the R & B case. I draw a deep breath, cast my eyes to the ceiling in what might be an actual prayer for mercy, and then drop them to study Penelope while I launch into the story of Joe. Once I start spilling my guts, I don’t stop until she knows everything, right through to Matteo Giordano’s parting words last night.
By the time I finish, her facial expression passes from initial shock and disbelief to bewilderment and finally hurt. “I can’t believe you haven’t shared a word of this with me, Tony. I’m your partner. I’m your friend.”
I repeat the parts about Joe threatening me if word of his visits got out.
“Joe warned you not to speak with the police, so I understand why you didn’t tell them right away. But me, Tony? You don’t trust me?”
I apologize, rationalize, and make every excuse I can think of, but I know damned well I should have spoken with Penelope the morning after Joe first appeared in my living room. She deserved that. Billy and Rick deserved it, too. I get up and fix myself a coffee. Penelope declines my offer to get her one as well. I snag a couple of muffins before I sit down again.
Penelope leans back in her chair, crosses her legs, and runs her hands through her hair several times while she thinks. Is she going to throw my ass out and terminate our partnership right here and now? I sample my coffee while I await my punishment.
Penelope finally meets my gaze and surprises me by asking, “Have you got access to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”
She’s not throwing me out? I shake my head. “Not in cash, no.”
“Liquid investments?”
Again, I shake my head. “I’ll call my investment guys on Monday morning to see what I can get my hands on quickly.”
She gives me a long look. “What about the Titan settlement?” She’s referring to the million dollars she’d extracted from Titan Developments in a lawsuit over the harassment and other skulduggery that had been employed in the effort to drive my parents and their neighbors out of their Liberty Street homes.
“All Papa’s,” I reply.
“All of it?”
“His house. His money.”
She shakes her head softly and gives me a gentle smile. “I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me. It was the decent thing to do.”
Have I just been called decent? By someone I’ve just betrayed?
“What about the Fleiss Lansky settlement?” she asks next, referring to my payout from the wrongful-dismissal suit. While satisfying and nothing to sneeze at, the settlement hadn’t produced anywhere near as big a payoff as the Titan action did. A good portion of the Fleiss Lansky windfall was gobbled up by legal fees and a mountain of credit card debt I’d run up while unemployed. More was invested in our legal partnership.
“What’s left is invested,” I tell her. “I’ll find out how much of it is accessible—and how quickly—on Monday.”
She nods, then strikes her thinking pose. “You know, that quarter million this Matteo guy demanded is really for Francesco’s benefit.”
I nod.
“Francesco has all that Titan money, plus the house. At the risk of sticking my nose somewhere it doesn’t belong, this is really his issue. He’s the guy who shot the man in Italy way back when. He’s who the killers are after now. Right?”
I nod again.
“Seems to me that Francesco should be the guy footing the bill for his own safety, Tony.”
“I don’t disagree.”
“Then that problem is solved?”
“You’d think so, right? He’s got the money in CDs at a few different banks.”
Penelope looks relieved while she mimics ticking an item off an imaginary list. “Perfect. One down.”
“I wish it were that simple,” I mutter. “In the rush to sneak Papa out of the country, I didn’t get him to execute a financial power of attorney.”
She groans. “So, all that ready cash and no way to get at it.”
“Right,” I confirm before getting up to score another couple of muffins.
“Can you send the paperwork to him wherever he is now?” she asks.
I haven’t told her that Papa landed in Penne, Italy. I do now. “We’re not in contact, though. Too risky.”
She slumps lower in her seat and mutters, “Darn it.” Then she brightens. “I’ve got some money in IRAs and a few other investments. I’ll round up what I can if you’re short.”
I feel like even more of a heel now than I did five minutes ago. How the hell did I not realize that I could trust Penelope with anything and that she’d be solidly in my corner come what may?
“Okay, I think we’ve taken that talk as far as we can at the moment,” she announces while reaching across my desk to snag a muffin. “What about this Joe guy? How do we balance Brittany’s safety against Billy and Rick’s interests?”
I turn my palms up, collapse back into my seat, and brush muffin crumbs off my shirt. “I haven’t got a damned clue. I’ve been thinking about it
