Chapter 7: The Warehouse

Dad's warehouse was a long gray building off the highway, with a loading dock and a parking lot full of pickup trucks.

We got there at ten past six.

The day shift was coming out in twos and threes, carrying lunch coolers.

Luca parked by the fence and kept the engine running.

"I'll be right here," he said. "If it goes badly, honk."

"If it goes badly, I'll honk myself."

I got out with the blue folder under my arm and the bank statement inside it.

In my jacket pocket, my phone was already recording.

Dad came out of the side door last, in his safety vest, laughing at something with the man beside him.

He was a different person with other men.

Warm, easy, slapping backs.

He saw me and the laugh stopped.

"Elena."

He said my name flatly, and he did not smile.

The man beside him looked from Dad to me and found something interesting on the pavement.

"Get in the truck," Dad said. "We'll talk at home."

"I'm not going home."

"Then we'll talk here."

He walked me to the far end of the dock, away from the others, but the dock was open and the lot was wide.

Three men near the fence turned to watch.

"I need two things," I said. "My passport, and your signature on the Columbia aid form."

"You need to apologize to your sister."

"I'm not apologizing for scoring higher than her."

"You humiliated this family in front of a hospital."

"I almost died from a fish, Dad. Nobody at the table would drive me to the ER."

"You were fine. Your mother checked on you."

"She did not."

He lowered his voice.

"Don't make a scene in front of my crew."

"Then answer one question." I took out the closing papers and held them where he could read the line. "Where did the money for this house come from?"

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