“It’s not the restaurants. It’s the money. We may not show it, but I’ve made a lot of it. Each of my children has a trust fund. I don’t want to get into specifics, but the principal is seven figures.”
“That’s big bucks,” said Jack.
“More money than most people can handle, if you ask me. So my children earn interest only starting at age twenty-one. The principal is theirs to keep when they turn thirty-five.”
“So your son was a millionaire?” said Jack.
“Yes. For almost three years.” He lowered his eyes and said, “He would have been thirty-eight next month.”
“So, you think Lindsey killed him because…”
“Because they didn’t live like millionaires. Oscar was a lot like me. Money wasn’t that important. He wanted to serve his country. Six months ago, he signed on for another stint at Guantánamo.”
“Interesting,” said Jack. “Lindsey was married to a millionaire who lived the simple life of a soldier on a military base.”
“That’s correct. So long as he was alive.”
“And if he was dead?”
“She could live anywhere she wanted, with enough money in the bank to live any way she wanted to live.”
Jack stood silent for a moment, thinking.
Pintado’s eyes narrowed as he said, “And I guess she can afford to go hire herself a pretty fancy lawyer, too.”
Jack said, “I’m not in this case for the money.”
“Yeah, right.”
Jack heard the crank of an engine. Another private plane slowly emerged from the hangar, its whirling propellers practically invisible.
Pintado grabbed his flight bag, threw it over his shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got another flight plan to chart out.”
“One more thing,” said Jack.
“Enough,” he said, waving him off. “I’ve already told you more than I should.”
“I was just wondering about your grandson.”
That got his attention. “What about him?”
“Since you’re so convinced of Lindsey’s guilt, how do you feel about Brian staying with her?”
Pintado’s eyes closed, then opened, as if he needed to blink back his anger. “You can’t imagine how that makes me feel.”
Jack studied the old man’s pained expression, then looked off toward the runway. “You might be surprised,” he said quietly. “Thanks again for your time, sir.”
8
That night, Jack went bowling. He hadn’t bowled in about five hundred years, but anytime he got together with his father, they seemed to end up doing something that made Harry Swyteck shake his head and say, “You don’t get out much, do you, son?” Last time it was golf, and Jack was thankful that this time at least there were gutters to keep his balls from hitting the other players.
“You owe me thirty-two thousand seven hundred and sixty-eight dollars,” said Harry.
Double-or-nothing wagers could add up in a hurry. Especially when you sucked. “I’ll race you home for it,” said Jack.
“You expect me to go double or nothing on a footrace?” Harry said with a chuckle.
“I promise not to trip you.”
“Whattaya say we just save your old man the heart attack and call it even?”
“Oh, all right. But only because it’s your birthday.”
Harry slapped his arm around his son’s shoulder, and they walked out together to the car. Harry was turning sixty, and it didn’t seem to bother him a bit, so long as he could spend a chunk of time celebrating alone with his son. As Jack drove him home, he couldn’t help thinking what a difference ten years made. Jack hadn’t been part of the fiftieth birthday celebration. It had been a huge party in the governor’s mansion, but back then he and Governor Swyteck had not even been on speaking terms. Some thought it was because Jack was working for the Freedom Institute, defending death row inmates, while his father was signing death warrants faster than any other governor in Florida history. That philosophical disagreement probably hadn’t helped matters, but the rift between them had existed for years. In hindsight, neither one of them fully understood it, but the important thing was that they’d finally gotten past it. Still, it made Jack wonder what this father and son might have been like, how different it would have been for Jack growing up, if his mother, Harry’s young and beautiful first wife, hadn’t died bringing Jack into the world.
They reached the Swyteck residence at eight P.M., right on schedule. Jack was just about to invite himself inside to say hello to his stepmother when Harry beat him to the punch.
“So, you coming inside for the surprise party?” said Harry.
Jack hesitated. It had been his job to get his father out of the house and back precisely at eight P.M. “What party?” he said lamely.
“Jack, really now. Have you ever known Agnes to keep a secret?”
“Good point.” They got out of the car and followed the walkway to the front door. Harry opened it and stepped inside. Jack was right behind him.
“Surprise!” they shouted in unison, a houseful of friends erupting in one loud cheer.
Harry took a half step back, as if overwhelmed. His wife came to him, smiling east to west. They’d been out of the governor’s mansion for nearly four years, but she still carried herself like the First Lady. “Got you this time, didn’t I, Harry?”
He hugged her and said, “Sure did, darling.” Then he winked at Jack, as if to say, No one outfoxes the fox. “A total surprise.”
It was wall-to-wall people, the guest list having grown from two hundred of the former governor’s closest personal friends to more than five hundred “must invites.” Drinks were flowing, platters of tasty hors d’oeuvres were circulating, and it seemed that within every circle of conversation someone was telling stories about Harry at twenty, Harry at thirty, and so on. It was fun for Jack to hear the old tales, especially ones from the part of Harry’s life that Jack had missed by his own choosing, and to his later regret.
The band was starting to play outside by the swimming pool. Jack was slated to give a little toast before the cake and candles, and even though he was no stranger to speaking before a crowd, he was feeling a few butterflies. He kept going back and forth in his mind, trying to decide between a speech from the heart or a lighter speech that tickled the funny bone. The choice, he realized, was preordained. No matter how close he and his father became, they would always be Swytecks. There would always be things left unsaid.
“Jack, I want you to meet someone,” said Harry.
Jack turned to see his father standing beside a distinguished Latin gentleman, his silver and black hair slicked straight back, almost as if he’d just emerged from the swimming pool. Harry’s arm was draped around the man’s shoulder affectionately. “Jack, this is Hector Torres. He’s south Florida ’s new-”
“ U.S. attorney. I know, Dad. I’m a criminal defense lawyer, remember?”
“Don’t be so hard on the old man,” said Torres, smiling. “I was the one who asked to be introduced. We’ve never formally met, Jack, but I feel like I know you, I’ve heard so much about you.”
“You mean from my days as a prosecutor?” asked Jack.
“More from your old man. He and I go way back. I remember his thirtieth birthday party.”
“Boy, that’s some memory.”
“Hey, watch that, son.”
They shared a laugh, then Torres turned more serious. “I don’t think your father ever ran for office without my backing. Can you think of anything, Harry?”
“Nope. You were always there.”
“That’s true. I was always there for you.” He paused, as if to let the reminder hang in the air for a moment. Then he looked at Jack and said, “In all seriousness, your reputation is still sound at the office. I understand you’re quite an exceptional lawyer.”
“Depends on who you talk to,” said Jack.