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“To understand what this business entails? Yes. I did.”
“You made me an accessory to?—"
“Anderson. You cannot be this naïve. Not anymore.”
“Naïve?” I ask, panting. “I may have shot people today, Dad! Because of you! Because to you, I’m worth risking to get back a quarter of a million dollars! No wonder you didn’t want to pay up for June! You’re a cheap son-of-a-bitch
“Ah, ah, don’t speak of your grandmother that way?—"
I lunge over his desk and grab his collar, shaking him. “The fuck is wrong with you!”
He glances at my wrist with mild disdain. “Are you done yet?”
“I haven’t even gotten started!”
“You realize, of course, that Moss is on the other side of that door still, and if I needed him to, he would come in here and remove you. I do not wish that to happen, but it will if you do not unhand me. Now.”
Moss, who shot and killed three people today. My father is threatening me with that guy. Fuck this shit. Fuck all of this. I need … June. I have to get her the money.
With shaking hands, I release him. “Why? Just tell me that.”
“First, you will tell me how today went. Sit. Would you like a scotch?”
“No.”
“Go on, then.”
I gulp against a dry throat as I sit. “We went to New Jersey like you wanted. We spoke to Bobby, and he pussyfooted around until Moss threatened his children. Things seemed like they were settling down, and I relaxed, tucking my hands into my pockets. Which exposed my gun and made them think I was going for it. The situation devolved into a shootout. We’re alive. They’re not.”
His smile deepened but only a fraction. “Sounds like you handled yourself as best you could.”
“It is your fault three men are dead, and that doesn’t even bother you, does it?”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Anderson.”
Does he have a spark of humanity in him? “It bothers you they’re dead?”
“No, not that part. It is not my fault they are dead,” he says, shaking his head. “If Bobby had paid his debts, then his children would still have a father. It is his own fault he is dead.”
I grip the arms of the chair. “You made me an accessory to three murders. And you’re not even bothered by it?”
“It was high time you understood what it is we really do.”
“No.”
He smirks. “No?”
“It is not time for me to understand any of this. There is nothing to understand. My father thinks I’m worth nothing, and?—"
“You are worth everything to me, Anderson,” he growls. “You are my legacy! If I have to twist your arm to get you to understand that, then I will!”
“My DNA is all over that warehouse, Dad. How am I going to be your legacy when I’m in a federal prison?”
At that, he laughs and sits back. The very picture of unbothered once more. He turns his laptop to face me. On it is full-color CCTV footage of the warehouse. Seeing myself there turns my stomach. It really does happen just as fast as I remember it. Things are fine, and then they are not.
Dad says, “It is good you got out from behind the crates. Most men don’t their first time.”
I say nothing, my attention rapt on the footage. It’s impossible not to flinch when Moss shoots the three in the head. All three were injured by that point, so it was easy for him. Then he collects me, and we leave.
