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“Don…”
“It wasn’t the pros who found Dale and me. Got Dale and me out of that wretched place. Saved our lives. It was you. You, Dad.”
He nods. What else can he do? I’m right on target.
“Dale’s got a wife to think about now, and you’ve got Callie.”
I nod. “I love her, Dad.”
“That was pretty clear tonight. Your mother and I are thrilled for you.”
“Are you? You don’t think it’s too fast?”
Dad smiles—that smile I saw so often as a kid. The smile that said I’ve got your back. “I had this same talk with your brother only weeks ago. I fell hard and fast for your mother, and look how things worked out for us. When you know, you know.”
I nod. “Speaking of Callie…” I pull the velvet box out of my coat pocket.
I texted Dale earlier that I was going to ask Dad about the ring. He agreed that we could trust our father.
Dad raises his eyebrows. “Ideas already?”
I clear my throat. “I am going to marry Callie, but this isn’t what you think it is. I mean, it is, if possible, but—I know I’m not making any sense.”
“Just start at the beginning.”
I open the box and hand it to Dad. “This was left for me in a safe-deposit box in my name. The key to which was left in my bathroom. In this house, Dad. Someone got in this house.”
“What?” Dad stands, one hand over the wound near his liver.
“Sit, Dad, please. I’ve got Monarch looking into it.”
“Fuck,” Dad says. “Fuck. Is history repeating itself?”
I jerk backward in my chair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t. I can’t think about that now.”
“Dad, you can’t dump that on me and—”
“Enough, Don.”
“All right, all right. But sit down, for God’s sake. I can tell you’re hurting.”
“I’m fine,” he says harshly. “Fucking Monarch, for what I pay them…”
Dad’s cheeks turn ruddy. He’s pissed, and rightfully so. I’m pissed too.
“I’ll call first thing in the morning and check in with Monarch. In the meantime, take a look at this ring. Please.”
The box is still clutched in his hand. He pulls the ring out and examines it closely. “It’s beautiful, but I don’t know anything about gemstones.”
“Neither do I, but Drew does. It’s a pumpkin diamond, the second-rarest type of diamond in the world. It’s worth a mint. He told me to have it insured for half a million.”
Dad’s eyebrows rise.
“The initials inside are LW,” I say. “Do you know any LW?”
Dad wrinkles his forehead, still staring at the ring. “I don’t see anything.”
