Chapter 11 - Coffee Without Bodyguards
The coffee tasted exactly like burned toast.
I sat across from Ethan Hayes in a little diner by Lake Michigan, watching him try to fold his six-foot-something frame into a booth built for ordinary men. He wore a black sweater and a coat with the collar turned up. No bodyguards hovered by the door. No one called him sir. The waitress asked whether he wanted whipped cream on his hot chocolate, and for the first time since the restaurant floor had risen to meet my face, I saw him genuinely unsure what to say.
"Coffee," he corrected.
"You look like you could use the chocolate," she said.
I laughed into my mug. Ethan ordered the chocolate.
It should have been simple. Two people sharing an hour. But the last time we'd stood together, I'd accused him of letting his own charitable foundation buy my silence. The accusation was still between us, even with a lake outside and a plate of pancakes in the middle of the table.
"Brooks called this morning," he said. "The foundation's outside accountants have located several transfers Victor concealed through a subsidiary. My signature isn't on those transfers. That's not proof I did everything right. It's only a fact you deserve to know."
"Thank you for telling me without asking me to forgive you."
"I'm learning."
He pulled the plate closer, then pushed it back toward me when he saw me eyeing the pancakes. I took one. I was tired of pretending I wasn't hungry.
"When I was nineteen," I said, "I thought adulthood meant never needing anyone. My father had just died. My mother was sick. Every time I asked for help, someone told me to be strong. So I learned to say I was fine even when I wasn't."
"You weren't fine at L'Osteria."
"No. I was starving. And furious. I thought if I got my three hundred dollars, the world would make sense again."
"You deserved those wages."
"I did. But I also deserved a manager who didn't steal my identity. And a city where being poor doesn't make people assume you're lying."
Ethan nodded. "I built a reputation on making people afraid to cross me. It kept certain men in line. It also taught everyone around me to hide bad news."
"Are you telling me you were a bad boss?"
"I'm telling you I was a dangerous one. Not only for the reasons people think."
I studied him. There was no speech about a wounded king or a lonely criminal who only needed a good woman. He wasn't asking me to turn his history into romance. He was naming a problem and leaving me free to decide what it meant.
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"Resign from the foundation board while the investigation continues. Replace the restaurant's management with people chosen through an independent process. Put wage complaints under outside review. And stop calling my companies a family when employees can't safely tell me the truth."
"That last one might be the hardest."
"Probably."
We walked along the lake afterward. The wind was brutal, and my hair escaped its clip. Ethan offered his scarf. I took it, partly because I was cold and partly because I wanted to practice accepting something small without feeling that it came with a contract.
"How's Sam?" he asked.
"He has decided that spoons are musical instruments. Mrs. Alvarez says he's conducting an orchestra."
"A promising career."
"He also throws his orchestra at the wall."
Ethan smiled, then grew quiet. "I miss him."
The words startled me. He didn't say them like a claim. He said them like a man surprised by an ordinary ache.
"He likes you," I admitted. "Especially when you make that ridiculous truck noise."
"It's an accurate truck noise."
"It's a dying lawn mower."
He laughed. We stood at the railing, watching gray waves slap the rocks. For one dangerous second I wanted to lean against him and forget everything else.
Instead I said, "If we keep seeing each other, it has to be slow. Sam doesn't need another man who appears when things get interesting and disappears when they get difficult."
"Then we go slow," he said. "And if you decide this isn't right, I won't punish you for it."
I believed he meant it. Believing a promise and seeing it kept were different things, but it was a beginning.
My phone buzzed. Julia had sent a message: Please call when you can. It's about the old fire investigation.
I called from the sidewalk while Ethan waited several paces away.
"The second signature on the memo belongs to retired Deputy Commissioner Arthur Keene," Julia said. "Brooks has confirmed he supervised the original fire inquiry. Keene has agreed to an interview, but his attorney wants a formal arrangement first."
"He helped bury the complaint?"
"The memo appears to show he was notified about it. We don't yet know what he did afterward."
"I remember his face," I whispered. "He came to our kitchen and told my mother the fire was a terrible accident."
"You may be asked to identify the visit or provide records. Take your time."
After the call, Ethan took one look at me and asked, "What do you need?"
"Not revenge," I said. "Not another man making a phone call and promising somebody will suffer. I need to go home and sit with my son."
"Then I'll walk you to your car."
I looked at his scarf around my neck. "I still have this."
"Keep it until next time."
"There might not be a next time."
"I know."
That was the thing that made me kiss his cheek before I left: he knew. He let me have a choice and didn't try to turn it into a test.
At Mrs. Alvarez's apartment, Sam greeted me by banging a wooden spoon against a saucepan. I dropped to my knees and scooped him up. He smelled of soap and mashed banana. I buried my face against his soft hair.
Later, after he fell asleep, I found a voicemail from an unfamiliar number. A man's voice, old and thin, said, "Ms. Davis, this is Arthur Keene. Your father tried to warn us. I have lived with what I did for nine years. There is something the detectives haven't found."
He paused, breathing hard.
"Ask them about the red ledger. Tell them to look beneath the north loading dock."
May you like
The message ended.
I forwarded it to Brooks without replying. Then I checked the lock, looked at Sam's sleeping face, and sat beside his crib until morning. I was no longer willing to mistake fear for a warning to stay silent.
