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He had grabbed his cuff links from the coffee table and frowned at my request. “I’ll wrinkle my shirt.”
“Please, sir,” I added when it looked like he wasn’t going to sit.
After a long moment he sat, exhaled a sigh, and stared at me as he waited.
“I don’t know how to say this, Daddy.”
His nostrils flared. “Cut the preamble, Amy, and just spit it out.”
I was annoyed but also scared I would lose my will, so I decided to take his advice. There was no way to build up to it, so I just needed say it.
“Josh Kelley. He’s not really Josh Kelley. His name is Davit Petrosyan, and he’s using the company as a front to smuggle illegal goods for his family. An Armenian crime family,” I said.
He stared at me, stunned. “What is this foolishness you’re going on about, girl?”
“I know it sounds crazy, sir, but it’s true.”
“And how do you know that?” he asked.
He didn’t look convinced, but he was asking questions, which meant I had a chance.
“Look at these,” I said, pulling out the file I had brought with me.
He took it and looked over the documents inside. “Bills of lading. So what?”
“I’ve highlighted some discrepancies. I highlighted the stated weight of the goods and compared it with the weight that comes in on the docks. The discrepancies are minor, but persistent. Enough to establish that something is off about the shipments.”
“What else do you have?” he asked, his voice deadly serious as he again looked through the papers.
“Well, I saw Davit—Josh—Davit—whatever his name is at the docks one day.”
“So?” My father knitted his brows together.
“He confessed, sir. Told me what he was doing,” I said.
“Confessed? If he is what you say he is, why didn’t he just get rid of you?” he asked.
“I…”
“You what?” he said.
“I don’t know his reasons,” I said, feeling strange for having to so casually explain why I wasn’t dead to my father.
“That’s your answer. You don’t know his reasons?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, before I quickly continued, “but whatever his reasons, he is still using the company. If he keeps this up, it could be very bad for us.”
“How so?”
“Well, who knows what he’s bringing in? Where it’s going? It could implicate the company.”
“So what do you suggest we do about it?” he asked.
“Well, he’s got this whole plan to say that I’m involved if I say anything, but—”
My father cut me off with an icy-edged glare. “And how could he say that?”
“He has some fake records. And pictures of me.” I said the last with shame in my voice that even I could hear.
