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It wasn't until he'd bent over to pick the ball up and cupped it in his hand that he finally looked up at me.
"Look who's here, Joshua." My mother squeezed my shoulders, then plucked an errant coffee cup from my father's desk and headed back for the door. "I'll just let you two talk."
"Merit," my father said.
"Dad."
He slipped the ball into his pocket. "What can I do for you?"
I was pleasantly surprised. He usually started off conversations with me with accusations or insults.
"I need a favor, actually."
"Oh?" He placed his putter into a tall ceramic vase that stood in a corner of the room.
"There's a warehouse in Little Italy. I'm wondering if you can tell me anything about it."
His toys put away, my father sat down behind a giant desk that looked like it had been made of recycled bits of discarded wood.
"Why do you want to know?"
Cards on the table, I thought. "The owner or someone involved in the property might have something to do with the murder of vampires."
"And you can't find this information online?"
I shook my head. "Nothing at all."
He regarded me skeptically. "I consider the assessor a friend, but I don't especially wish to burn that bridge completely by using the information she gives me to accuse someone of murder."
I pushed harder. "The clerk doesn't need to know what we're using the information for."
"We," he said. "You and Ethan?"
I nodded. My father and I hadn't discussed Ethan - or anything else - since Ethan had come back.
"He's alive and well, I understand."
"He is."
"That's good. I'm glad to hear it." He seemed honestly relieved. Since he'd put in motion the animosity between Ethan and Celina that had led to Ethan's death, he'd probably felt responsible for it, at least in some deep place in his heart.
It wasn't that I thought my father uncaring; he definitely cared, but he was so utterly absorbed in his own needs that he manipulated people like chess pieces to get what he wanted . . . even if he believed he was doing it for the good of others.
He looked up at me. "You and I haven't talked. About what happened, I mean."
"We've talked enough." My stomach clenched nervously, as it often did when my father suggested we should "talk" about things. Such conversations rarely ended happily for me.
"Have we talked enough for you to get some of the facts? Possibly. But the entire truth? Possibly not." He glanced at the array of photographs on his desk, and picked up a small silver frame. I knew what picture he held in his hand: a photograph of the child who would have been my older sister, the first Caroline Evelyn Merit.
"She was only four years old, Merit. It was a miracle your mother and brother walked away from the wreck, but that miracle wasn't large enough to save her."
His voice was wistful. "She was such a bright child. So happy. So full of life. And when she died, I think a bit of us did, too."
I sympathized. I couldn't imagine how hard it would be to lose a child, to bear witness to her passing, especially at such a young age.
But Robert and Charlotte had also lived through it, and they'd needed my parents, too.
"You were born, and we were so happy. We tried to give you the life we couldn't give her."
My father had an indefatigable belief that he could control and shape the world around him. He had grown up, he believed, without enough, because my grandfather brought home only a cop's salary. Solution? Create one of the largest businesses in Chicago.
I was the solution to Caroline's death. I was to be her replacement, down to the name, which is why even today I went by Merit instead of Caroline. But that burden was unfair, and it was much too heavy for a child.
"I can't replace her. I never could. And you decided to make me immortal . . . but you didn't ask me what I wanted."
He put the picture back on the desk and looked up at me, and his gaze was chillier now. "You are stubborn, just like your grandfather."
I didn't challenge that, as I didn't consider it an insult.
My father adjusted the items on his desk so they lined up just so. "I may be able obtain the information you're asking for," he said.
Relief flooded me. "Thank you," I solemnly said, hoping that he understood I meant it. I grabbed a pen and notepad from his desk and wrote down the warehouse's address, then put both back on his desk.
My father looked at the notepad silently for a moment, head canted as if he were debating something. "But keep in mind, I'm nearing retirement, Merit, and your brother will be taking over soon. I don't plan to set him up for immediate failure by arranging the city's chess pieces against him. So I'd like you to do something for me, as well."
I almost found it a relief that he'd asked. The request was a reminder - but a familiar one - that nothing was free when it came to my father. We were back on common ground, working in expected patterns.
"What?" I asked.
"You previously agreed to meet with Robert. I'd like you to follow through on that promise."
That was also a common refrain. My father believed being connected to a House would boost Robert's chances of making a further success of the company.
"Okay."
My father's eyebrows lifted. "That's it? No argument?"
"He's my brother," I said simply. "And you're right - I agreed to do it. But if this is for political benefit, meeting with vampires won't exactly endear him to humans. We aren't very popular right now."
"Perhaps not," he said. "But you are popular with your kind."
"What is 'my kind,' exactly?"
He gestured dismissively. "Supernaturals and the like."
I bit my tongue at the obvious stereotyping. He was, after all, doing us a favor. "Is there a market for you among the supernatural populations?"
"I'm not certain. But as there appears to be a substantial population of supernaturals in the city, we believe it's worth cultivating them."
I didn't tell him all the vampires living in Cadogan House might be seeking new living arrangements pretty soon. And speaking of which, I needed to get back to it.
"I'll get out of your hair," I said. "Please tell Robert to call me."
I walked out of his office, and I didn't look back to see whether he'd smiled in victory. But I'd have put good money on it.
* * *
I considered my visit to the Merit campus a success, but it wasn't going to be an immediate one. Even if my father made good on his promise to check the property, it was a long shot the information would be worth much. Plus, it was getting late, and the clerk's office would have long since closed for the night.
