Chapter 4: The Addendum

Rhiannon made my father a grilled cheese and put it in front of him like a prescription.

He didn't touch it.

We were at her kitchen table, and the walls were so close that his elbow brushed the fridge.

I had driven him there myself, because his own house felt like the next place Quentin might send a man with a box.

"Dad," I said. "Eat. Then tell me."

He took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"Quentin's father's firm borrowed from us twelve years ago," he said. "Forty million dollars, to cover a development."

"And you called the loan."

"I signed the call." He said it to the table. "I was handed an audit that said the money was gone. Not mismanaged. Gone."

"Was it?"

"I believed it. I was sixty days from losing the bank if I didn't act."

"Quentin's father was your friend," I said.

"He was my best friend for twenty years. We split a dorm room."

"Then why didn't you call him first?"

"I did. He didn't pick up." My father's mouth went crooked. "I thought that was my answer."

Rhiannon set down her spatula.

"Who gave you the audit?" she asked.

My father shook his head.

"Dad."

"Tomorrow, Claire. Let me have tonight."

His voice cracked on the last word, and I stopped.

"Did you go to the funeral?" I asked.

He looked up at me for the first time.

"I drove there," he said. "I never got any closer than the back."

He picked up the sandwich, put it down again, and stared at it.

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