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“You took a photo of a mentally ill woman in the hospital?”
“Yeah, not my best look. I get it. Don’t tell Mom.”
“I hate keeping things from your mother, but you’re right. She won’t understand that.”
“I know. It’s unlikely the photo will do us any good anyway, but if you have even a slight recognition…” I hit send. “Should be coming through soon.”
“Got it.” Pause. “Doesn’t ring a bell. What do you think, late sixties? Early seventies?”
“I was thinking eighties. It’s hard to tell. People age so differently. I mean, Mom is sixty-five and she looks amazing.”
“Yeah, but your mom is not strapped down to a bed in a mental health facility.”
I widen my eyes. “She’s strapped down?”
“Yeah, didn’t you notice?”
I pull the photo back up. Sure enough, her wrists are secured with white bindings. I didn’t notice because the white is the same color as her gown and the sheet, and I wasn’t looking at her wrists. I was concentrating on her face.
“I didn’t notice. Donny and I were just trying to get out of there as quickly as we could.”
“I can’t believe you were able to get in.”
“Yeah, we had some issues with the security guard. But we got out of it, dropped the name.”
“Yeah, that’s usually all it takes.”
“So can you look into this? See if you can figure out who the hell she is?”
“Yeah, I will. But honestly, Brock? Pat Lamone and his claim to the Steel fortune is the least of our problems right now.”
“I know that, Dad.”
“It’s more important that we find out who’s been hijacking our property and moving…cargo.”
“Cargo, Dad? Really?”
“It’s just an easier word to say, son.”
“I suppose. But we can’t let ourselves get easy with this, Dad. It’s a harsh reality. I don’t want to get comfortable with it.”
“This has nothing to do with getting comfortable, Brock. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know that.”
“All I can tell you is this. I understand that Pat Lamone means more to you because of what’s going on with you and Rory. I get that, and I understand. But we really need to find out who left that information for Donny. Someone wanted us to find out what’s going on on our property. Whoever it is, we have to consider them a friend at this point.”
“Do we?” I ask. “That’s pushing it, in my opinion.”
“In mine, as well. But whoever has hijacked our land for these horrific purposes is the enemy for sure. Someone wants us to know, and you know what that means. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“Maybe, Dad. But if they’re a true friend, why didn’t they just come to us? Why sneak around and leave shit in Donny’s bathroom? Who the hell does that?”
“Someone who doesn’t want to—or can’t—reveal themselves to us. Which means—”
“They’re probably working with the enemy,” I finish for him.
“Exactly.”
