My grandfather and I stare at each other. I'm wondering if the person he called is some kind of high-level investigator, and if now I'm going to have not only the FBI but my grandfather's hired guy following me. Maybe to spy on me, maybe to protect me.
Probably both.
"Why did you go to New York with Max Bennett?" he asks me.
"Who did you just call and agree to meet with?"
"You can't avoid my question by asking one of your own," he says, and I'm reminded suddenly of two kids on a playground arguing I asked you first.
"It's complicated," I finally say.
"I have time to listen." We stare at each other, neither of us wanting to back down, for what feels like several minutes but is probably much shorter.
I do owe him an explanation, considering the fact that I not only lied to him but he found out about the lie when we were confronted by the FBI. I suppose there's no harm in telling him the truth. Or at least part of the truth.
"Ok, look, I accidentally walked in on something when I was in Las Vegas with Max. At that time I didn't know that he was anything but a legitimate businessman trying to live down his father's infamous reputation."
Andrew nods. "But you know better now."
"I know better now."
"I'm almost afraid to ask what you walked in on."
"Nothing violent or criminal, if that's what you're thinking. Just a meeting."
I can see by his eyes that he gets it now.
"A meeting no one was supposed to know was going on, I presume."
"That's right."
"And?"
"And Max had to introduce me as his lawyer so that the . . . other parties . .. would be confident that I wouldn't say anything. About seeing them together, or about their business."
He waits. Andrew is good at just letting the silence stretch out, waiting for you to fill it. Meanwhile, I'm debating how much I should actually tell him.
"I took a look at some documents, made some suggestions," I admit.
"Documents that have to do with a crime?"
"No, not really. Not on the face of it. But I suspected that there was more to it than the business deal it looks like on the surface. And based on that assumption, I made some suggestions on additional language that . . . " I'm not sure how to finish that sentence.
"That makes the deal look even more legitimate," my grandfather says.
"Yes."
He leans back in his chair and shakes his head. "Money laundering."
I stare at him across the desk. "How did you know?"
"How did I know? Because I'm not stupid, Hadley. And I can guess what kind of people were involved in the meeting."
Yeah, he probably can. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure this out. And my grandfather may be many things, but stupid isn't one of them.
"Was this meeting the reason you told Max Bennet you were putting an end to the personal relationship?"
"No."
"No?"
"No, I promised to tell you the truth, so I'll admit it. That wasn't enough to make me want to stop seeing him. It was just something he was following through on that had to do with a deal his father agreed to before he went to prison. And the deal itself isn't anything illegal. It just . . . has the potential to be used for another purpose."
"And that didn't bother you?"
"Of course it bothered me. But . . . I have strong feelings for Max."
"That's ridiculous. You just met the man."
I shrug. "It is what it is. You wanted the truth from me, and that's the truth."
He frowns, but then he gets this faraway look in his eyes and I wonder if he's remembering the first time he met my grandmother. I wonder how quickly it took for him to develop those strong feelings.
Then it seems like he brushes those thoughts away. His face gets serious again.
"So what was it? What was too much for you, Hadley? I'd really like to know."
I think about Ramon Suarez, with his battered face, his arm broken in several places. His ribs cracked with a lead pipe. And Max, calmly telling me he took care of it personally.
Then I look him straight in the eyes. "I'm not going to tell you. Isn't it enough that I made the decision you wanted me to make?"
"That remains to be seen," Andrew says. "And it doesn't explain what you were doing going to New York with him, on the pretext of meeting up with friends."
"The plans for New York were already in place before I broke up with Max."
"So? Plans can be changed."
"There were other parties involved who . . . expected me to be there."
"Oh, Christ." The look his face is one of pure disgust, but I don't know if it's directed at me, Max, or the unnamed parties. Or maybe just the situation. I don't tell him it was Gino and Joey D. Based on Gino's reaction, I'm certain they've had some kind of dealings in the past, or at least know about each other.
And I'm worried what my grandfather's reaction might be. Things are bad enough between us already.
So instead, I explain my thought process.
"I didn't feel like I could say no. And at that point, I realized I was being followed and I'd narrowly escaped being forced into a car. I didn't know it was the FBI. I thought the safest thing I could do was to go to New York with Max."
"You didn't consider coming to me with this?"
"Are you serious?"
"No, I suppose not."
He folds his hands together, flexes his interlaced finders, and seems lost in thought again. When he does speak, his tone has gentled somewhat.
"You may not believe this, Hadley, but it wasn't only for Patricia that I asked you to come here. It's just as important to me that you take over the legacy of this law firm. Not because my legacy matters me - or rather, not only because of that."
"What then?"
"Because you matter to me. I want you to have what I've built here. I want you to have a life here in Miami."
"The kind of life you choose for me."
"Obviously I'd prefer that you don't throw what I've built back in my face. You are a lawyer, after all, and I had nothing to do with making you one."
I'm thinking maybe he did, and maybe he didn't. Our family history and childhood memories can draw us toward things or push us away from them. Was I following in my grandfather's footsteps when I decided to become a lawyer? Or was I just rejecting the less conventional path my father chose?
Does it even matter?
"Hadley, regardless of whether you decide you want to stay and become an equal partner with me in this law firm after the trial period is over, I will be here for you in whatever way you need me."
"If that's true, then I need you not to judge me for the decisions I've made about Max, and the fact that I plan to continue representing him in his legitimate business transactions."
"I don't think that's wise."
"I don't really have a choice at this point."
"For reasons you won't explain to me."
"I'm sorry, but if you don't want me to lie you, then you have to accept that there are questions I won't answer. That I can't answer right now." I realize I'm gripping the sides of the chair, my hands clenched in fists, and I force myself to relax.
"After all," I continue, "there are plenty of questions I have that you refuse to answer. Questions about my past. About my mother."
"You need to let go of the past. We can't change it."
I wonder if he really believes that.
"That's easy for you to say," I tell him, "when you know the past."
Before I can press him further - which would probably be pointless anyway - there is a tap on the door. It opens, and his legal assistant steps in.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Reese, but Jenny just buzzed me that your appointment is here."
"That's fine," Andrew says. "Can you show him back?"
"Of course."
She disappears, leaving the door open, and I turn back in my chair toward my grandfather.
"The conversation about the past isn't over. Don't expect me to just drop it."
He nods. "Don't expect me to tell you things that only make our lives more complicated."
I'm obsessed with learning the secrets of the past. But I have to admit that right now I have more pressing concerns. Namely, what to do about the FBI's sudden interest in me.
I sense movement behind me, then hear a familiar voice.
"Hello, Andrew."
I turn in my chair, yanking my head around in surprise.
And Max walks into the room.