Chapter 11 - When the Enemy Wore a Friendly Face
I didn't sleep that night.
Instead, I sat beside Griffin in the library while he reviewed documents transferring substantial portions of his business interests into an independently administered trust.
His attorney, Vincent Romano, looked profoundly unhappy.
"Griffin, this agreement gives Adrian extraordinary leverage."
"I know."
"You cannot assume he'll release the boy."
"I don't."
"Then why sign?"
Griffin glanced toward me.
"Because the agreement isn't the only thing we're preparing."
Vincent sighed.
"I was afraid you'd say that."
He slid another document across the table.
It contained a voluntary disclosure arrangement prepared for Agent Brooks.
For years, Griffin had maintained a wall between his legitimate companies and the Castellano family's criminal operations.
Now he was preparing to disclose the financial structures he knew about, even though doing so might expose him to investigation.
"You're taking an enormous risk," I said.
"Yes."
"You could lose more than money."
"I know."
I stared at him.
"You're remarkably irritating when you're calm."
"So I've been told."
At nine the next morning, the mansion's front gates opened for an unexpected visitor.
Charles Whitmore.
I watched him enter the foyer wearing his familiar navy overcoat.
He looked exactly as he had every Monday morning for eight years.
Confident.
Distinguished.
Almost paternal.
"Grace," he said warmly.
I felt physically ill.
"Charles."
He opened his arms as though expecting a hug.
I remained still.
His smile faded.
"I've been terribly worried about you."
"Have you?"
"Your disappearance caused quite a commotion."
"Yes. Especially the part where you suspended me."
He sighed.
"An unfortunate administrative necessity."
"And the hotel reservation?"
His face didn't change.
"What hotel reservation?"
"The one authorized using your credentials."
He looked offended.
"Grace, I came here because I care about you."
"Then explain why Michael Bennett removed Daniel Voss from protective custody."
Charles slowly removed his gloves.
"You're making accusations you can't substantiate."
I looked at Griffin.
He remained near the fireplace.
Silent.
Watching.
Charles noticed him.
"Mr. Castellano. I had hoped we could discuss this privately."
"You're speaking in my house," Griffin replied. "You can speak in front of me."
A tense silence followed.
Then Charles turned back toward me.
"Grace, your father was a good man."
My stomach tightened.
"Don't."
"He made unfortunate decisions."
"Don't talk about my father."
"I tried to help Robert."
I stepped closer.
"Did you help him before or after his car went off the road?"
For the first time, Charles lost his composure.
"Be careful."
The words were quiet.
But the threat was unmistakable.
Griffin straightened.
Charles immediately recovered his smile.
"You're upset. Understandably."
I looked at the man who had once celebrated my promotion with champagne.
"Why did you give me the Bellwether case?"
He hesitated.
Then he said, "Because you're talented."
"Try again."
Charles's expression cooled.
"Because I believed you could handle it."
"Or because you knew my name was attached to the trust."
Silence.
There it was.
A tiny flicker in his eyes.
He hadn't expected me to know.
I continued.
"You thought I might discover the access information without realizing what it meant."
Charles said nothing.
"And once I retrieved the archive, you'd take it from me."
"Grace, you're becoming emotional."
I laughed.
"That's a fascinating thing for a man accused of orchestrating a financial conspiracy to say."
His face hardened.
"You have no idea what your father was involved in."
"Then tell me."
"He betrayed people who trusted him."
"My father discovered fraud."
"Your father tried to destroy an arrangement that had supported dozens of families."
"With stolen money?"
Charles stepped closer.
"You think the world is divided into innocent people and criminals because you've spent your adult life reading statutes."
"And you think the law doesn't apply to you because you've spent yours manipulating it."
For a moment, I thought he might strike me.
Instead, he smiled.
A cold, unfamiliar smile.
"You really are Robert's daughter."
He turned toward the door.
"This conversation is finished."
Griffin spoke.
"Not quite."
Charles stopped.
Griffin held up a small envelope.
"I found the original estate amendment."
Whitmore's expression changed.
"The one you drafted shortly before Thomas died," Griffin continued.
Charles swallowed.
"That document is privileged."
"Not everything a lawyer writes is protected simply because he's a lawyer."
I almost smiled.
Griffin looked at me.
"I've been paying attention."
Charles left without another word.
Ten minutes later, Naomi Brooks called.
She had obtained legal authorization to search my childhood home.
But her team had discovered something unexpected.
The property was empty.
Someone had removed almost every piece of furniture.
Except one item.
A small wooden lighthouse.
And taped beneath it was a recent photograph of Griffin and me kissing in the mansion library.
May you like
On the back, someone had written:
LOVE MAKES EVERYONE PREDICTABLE.
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