by Stasia Black
Seeing the mess only heightens the anxiety churning in my stomach. None of this is like my dad. Usually he’s all about organization and he’s a fitness nut. He works out more than me and he’s forty-nine.
“Baby,” he starts again, “the DA wants me to make a deal. You see, I got into business with some very bad men and—” He bites his lip and presses a hand to his temple like he can’t bear to tell me the rest.
Okay, this is beyond scaring me. I’ve never seen him like this. He is freaking me out. I go over to him and grab his forearms to stop his pacing. “Dad. What men? What the hell is going on?”
It’s then that I see just how bloodshot his eyes are. His breath doesn’t smell like alcohol, but it’s like he hasn’t slept in days. I’ve heard him up at night but I’ve just tried not to think about it. My unspoken mantra has been: go to work and avoid, avoid, avoid.
The government seized all his assets, including the Upper East Side apartment where he lived. He’s been staying with me ever since he got out on bail last weekend. And he’s been… different. Not the confident man I grew up with.
But I’ve never seen him look so freaked out. So abjectly… terrified.
“We have to get whatever money’s left together.” His eyes shift back and forth wildly. “I have to get out of the country. I’ll make a run for Mexico. Maybe find someone who can get me to South America.”
“Dad, stop it.” What the hell is he talking about? “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?” Growing up he and I were close. After Mom left us when I was a kid, I used to spend every afternoon after school in his office, coloring or doing homework in the corner and listening to him wheel and deal over the phone. I told myself that when I was older, I’d be just like him.
But then one day it all stopped. He said it wasn’t professional to have his daughter at work like that even though he’d never had a problem with it before. He used to show me off to all his coworkers and brag about my good grades to anyone who would listen. But then a nanny started picking me up from school and taking me home to our huge and incredibly empty Manhattan apartment.
Most days Dad tried to get home in time for dinner and to help me with my homework afterwards if I needed it. We always still did the Sunday crossword together… but it was never quite the same. And then cue the pitched battles when I was looking at colleges and started talking about working at the family company. Which was when he dropped the big ‘ole bomb that Van Bauer & Sons meant exactly that… sons. No girls allowed.
“Honey,” he finally looks at me and devastation is clearly written all over his face—dropped brows, dark circles under his eyes, “you don’t know how hard I’ve worked to keep this from ever touching you.” He sinks down onto the couch behind him and clutches his head in his hands. “But no matter how hard I worked to keep it all afloat, I just kept getting in deeper and deeper.”
Is he talking about the Ponzi scheme? I’ve asked him, of course I’ve asked him why he did it. How he could have been so stupid… well, I didn’t word it like that, exactly, but still.
“Why, Daddy? What happened?” I sit down on the couch beside him and take his hand. It’s a reversal of when we were little, of when I’d be afraid and he’d take my hand and all the monsters and scary things in the dark would disappear. That was his power back then. He was my hero. He could do anything.
He stares at the ground and for several long moments, I think he’s still not going to tell me. I sigh and go to pull my hand back but he clutches it even tighter.
“After your mom left, I went through a bad patch. I started gambling. I almost lost everything.” He squeezes his eyes shut and I can see how much it pains him to admit the weakness.
I swallow hard to keep back my shock.
“I pulled my head out of my ass eventually, but not in time. I borrowed money from some bad men to pay back my debts.” He finally looks over at me, his eyes watery and red. “And then I had to borrow from my legitimate clients to pay them back. And it kept snowballing from there. I thought if the company just made enough money, if I could just float it for a little while longer, I could pay everyone back.” He starts shaking his head. “But it got out of control.”
His mouth tightens into a hard line and he squeezes my hand again. “But I swore none of it would ever touch you. You’d never be part of the business. You’d never be tainted by my mess.”
A cry I can’t keep back erupts from my throat. “So it was never because… because I wasn’t—” I can barely get it out but it has to be asked, “a son?”
His forehead creases in a pained look and he shakes his head. “I hated that I had to make you believe that, but all that mattered was keeping you safe.”
He pulls me into his arms again and I collapse against his chest.
Dad. Oh God. How could he?
“Why didn’t you just tell me? Maybe I was too young to understand at first, but I’m a grown woman now. You could have confided in me.”
He holds me to him while tears leak out of my eyes. His heart is thumping strong underneath my ear.
“I couldn’t.” I can hear how thick his throat is as he says it. “I was so ashamed. I’m a foolish old man.”
I scoff as I pull back from him, swiping at my eyes. “You’re only forty-nine, Dad. Hardly old.”
He just shakes his head. “I’ve got to get out of the country, honey. The men I was talking about are dangerous—even after I paid them back…” His gaze moves toward the window like he can’t bear to look at me while he talks about this. “I was never able to untangle the business from them. They’re powerful men.” He moves his palms down his pajama pants. “They wanted money… favors… The DA suspects their involvement and he’s offered me a deal if I flip on them. I’m not stupid enough to take it.” A haunted look comes into his eyes. “But it’s obvious I’m a loose end they want tied up.”
Tied up… does he mean, like—
“While I’m holed up in the apartment they can’t get to me.” His face crumples again. “But baby, now they’re threatening you.”
He walks to the attached dining room and comes back with a large envelope with several black and white photographs. All of me. All with a big red X marked over my face.
“I don’t care if I die,” my father whispers. “But I can’t bear to let anything happen to you.”
My gaze freezes on the pictures. Me in my workout gear—it could have been yesterday or any of the other Mondays, Wednesdays, or Sundays I go to my gym. But the second picture, I’m wearing a necklace that I rarely put on. I wore it yesterday in a sad attempt to jazz up my day and feel more feminine and pretty in my usual pantsuit and power blazer.
A cold shiver works its way down my spine. Someone was watching me? And taking creepy pictures?
Someone who wants my dad… dead?
“Who’s doing this?” I whisper.
Dad shakes his head. “These men want me dead because of what I know. I’m not telling you or anyone else.”
“What about protective custody if you did testify? Can’t the police—?”
But Dad’s already shaking his head. “You don’t understand the power these men wield.” He swallows. “My only chance is to disappear. Get south of the border and keep running.” His gaze goes distant. “You should be safe as long as I’m gone.”
I tug away from him and run my hands through my short hair. Holy crap. This is all real. My dad, he— I swallow hard against the tears.
And this whole time, he was protecting me, not shunning me from the business because I was a girl.
“Do you know someone who can help you? To disappear?” God, from all he’s said and the pictures, they’re probably watching the house right now. I look to the windows that he’s shuttered. He must have had the same thought.
He reaches a shaking hand up to rub his chin. “That’s why we need to get together whatever money we have. I’m sure we can find someone. For the right price—”
So that’s a no about him knowing anyone
who could help. Not surprising since he burned all his bridges by defrauding almost everyone he was in business with.
I look up at him, suddenly knowing what I have to do.
I walk over to him and squeeze his trembling hand. Then I head back into the foyer and lean over to grab my purse. I dig through all the crap I shoved in it and pull out the crumpled contract at the bottom. Then I fish around for the card.
Yes, I kept them.
Desperate times and all that—though, God, I didn’t even know the half of it. My mouth goes dry as I withdraw my phone from the front pocket of my purse.
Now my hands are the ones shaking.
I look down at the card, thinking of how confident Mr. Owens would be that I’d call. Like there was no question that I’d be forced into this position.
Am I really willing to… sleep with him until you come to be with child… Mr. Owens words come back in perfect clarity and a shudder goes through my body.
I almost drop the phone back into my purse but then my eyes catch on the photos of me Dad’s still clutching in his hands. If what Dad’s saying is true, this is life or death.
I dial the number.
Mr. Owens picks up on the first ring. “Ms. Van Bauer. How delightful to speak to you again so soon.”
Chapter 3
“No! Stop, wait! You didn’t let me say goodbye!” I scream, fighting the grip of two men who drag me up the front stairs of a huge resort-type building in the middle of nowhere.
I look over my shoulder frantically at the small plane idling in a distant field and shout, “Dad!” even though I know it’s useless and he can’t hear me.
What the fuck have I gotten us into?
None of this is what I envisioned when the well-dressed Mr. Owens came over a half an hour after I got off the phone with him.
God, was that really only earlier today? As soon as I signed on the dotted line, Mr. Owens told us we had to leave immediately. That we couldn’t bring even a single belonging with us.
When I explained the deal to Dad, glossing over the details and saying that I would be going to work for Mr. Owens’s client in order to get him out of the country, Dad looked wary.
“What kind of job is it that they offered to help out your convict father, Mel? This doesn’t sound right.”
“So they color a little outside the lines. It’s nothing bad or dangerous.” I sat him down and spoke confidently. In truth, I had no idea what the hell the ‘client’ offering this deal was into, but if there was ever a time to sell a pitch, this was it. “You yourself said it. I’m one of the best up and coming ad agents in the business. Just think of this as very aggressive head-hunting. They want me for the job and they were willing to do what needed to be done to sweeten the pot.”
Dad still looked dubious. Rightly so. But I could also see the spark of hope in his eyes. This was the only real way out of this mess and we both knew it. If what he said was true, we were sitting ducks in this apartment.
Mr. Owens arrived just then, tabling any further conversation. He said we needed to leave immediately. When Dad started to explain about some of the dangers of leaving the apartment, Mr. Owens cut him off, saying he was already aware of the threats against us.
So him showing up at my office today of all days wasn’t a coincidence after all.
My stomach bottomed out. What if he was the very person who had sent those photos? Or his client was?
But then why come to me with such an insane and specific proposal? The very bizarre nature of it gave it some credibility—at least as far as Mr. Owens not working for the men who wanted my father dead.
No, my best hope was that he and his client were just taking advantage of my vulnerable situation. And wasn’t that just awesome? That in the best case scenario this guy was preying on my weakness instead of actively trying to kill my father?
Dad and I exchanged a glance, then Dad said to give him a second while he went to change. He couldn’t very well go out in his pajamas. I had no idea what was really going through his head.
Mr. Owens looked somewhat put out, but I didn’t care. While Dad was upstairs I sat with Mr. Owens in my living room enduring the most awkward of silences.
Mr. Owens pulled out his phone and began checking emails. When I couldn’t stand the quiet anymore, I finally asked. “Why me? Out of all the women in the world?”
He shrugged casually, not looking up from his phone. “You’ll have to ask the client that. But I imagine it helps that you come from such a fertile family and that you are in a position of need regarding your father. Plus your good breeding and education.”
“Fertile…” I scoffed. “But I’m an only child!”
He glanced up briefly from his phone before looking back at it and thumbing through something on the screen. “Your mother got a tubal ligation. But she’s one of eight children and her father and mother both come from large families.”
“Are you stereotyping Mexican families right to my face?” My back stiffened.
He shrugged again. “Not at all. I’m just a numbers man. And the odds are good you’re fertile.”
Enough of this crap. I stood up. “I’m going to go check on my father.”
“Good. We need to be going.”
It would be bad if I punched an old man, right? I jogged up the stairs and knocked lightly on the guest room door where Dad’s been staying.
No response.
“Dad?” I pushed open the door and stepped inside. Light came from the ensuite bathroom where the door was cracked.
A sour, cold knot entered my stomach. I hurried forward and pushed open the door to the bathroom.
Which is where I found my father, dressed in a suit and freshly shaved, standing and staring down at three open bottles of prescription pills and a full glass of water.
“Dad, no!” I rushed forward and knocked over the pill bottles, scattering white and yellow circles all over the counter.
He tried to force me behind him. “Go back downstairs, Mellie. I’m not going to let you do this, whatever it is, for me. It doesn’t feel right. Just let me end it here and now.” He reached to start gathering the pills into a pile, but I knocked his arm away, scattering them again.
“No!” I threw my arms around his middle, both hugging him and pushing him away from the counter. He stumbled and when his back hit the far wall, it’s like I could feel all the bravado leaving him. He hugged me back just as fiercely.
“Dad, swear to me you’ll never—” My voice broke. “Never do anything like that again. No matter what.” He was breaking my heart. Couldn’t he see that? “I’m going to be strong, but I need you to be strong for me, too.”
I felt him shake his head into my hair. “I’m supposed to be strong for you. This was never supposed to touch you. Just let me—”
I pulled back from him. “Swear,” I demanded, brooking no argument. “Never again. If you love me at all, swear it!” I shook him and finally he nodded. I could tell it felt like a defeat for him to do it, but he did.
“I want to hear the words.” My voice was harsh but I didn’t care. There was no way I could go through whatever the next year would hold without knowing he would be safe.
“I swear I won’t hurt myself. But, baby,” he looked at me with anguish. “You swear that you’ll be safe, too?”
I nodded. “I swear, Dad. We’ll get through this. It’s all going to be fine.”
Just then there was a knock on the outer bedroom door. “I hate to interrupt,” came Mr. Owen’s voice, sounding anything but sorry, “but we are working under certain time constraints. If we could move things along?”
“I don’t like this,” Dad said, his head shaking. “If something seems too good to be true, it usually is.”
I plastered on my brightest smile. “Everything’s going to be fine. It’s just a job, Dad. Trust me.”
I took his hand and pulled him through the bedroom to his closet. “Get your shoes and let’s go.”
He did, reluctantly, and w
e went.
Yeah, so that saying Dad mentioned about everything seeming too good to be true? I’ve always known my father to be a very smart man—apart from the whole Ponzi scheme and getting involved with criminals thing.
Because the second Dad and I stepped into the black van Mr. Owens directed us to, two huge, burly men cuffed our hands behind our backs and shoved black bags over our heads.
They must have injected Dad with something because he stopped shouting almost immediately.
I freaked out, thinking they killed him, that the ‘client’ was actually the people who wanted Dad dead after all. But Mr. Owens calmly informed me, maybe from the front seat, “He’s just taking a little nap but will feel right as rain once he gets to his destination.”
“Wait, so you don’t want him dead?” I asked in a confused panic.
“Of course not.” Mr. Owens sounded perplexed. “We signed a contract, did we not? As long as you live up to your end of the bargain, your father will be perfectly fine.”
Said as I was shoved in the back seat and one of the muscled henchmen sat beside me.
“The client doesn’t want anything in your system,” Mr. Owens continued in his calm voice as if none of this was out of the ordinary. “He’s very wary of anything that might harm a potential fetus. Even though I informed him that was perfectly absurd and it was highly unlikely at such an early stage of development. Still,” Mr. Owens sighed. “He was adamant. Well, this is where I leave you. Pleasure making your acquaintance.”
And then I heard the sound of a car door opening and closing.
Fucking lunatic. I started screaming my head off and flailing every body part possible.
That lasted as long as it took for the muscle beside me to lift my hood and shove a gag in my mouth. Then he reached down and tied my ankles together.
I spent the hour-long ride in the van and then an even longer ride in what sounded like a small jet tied up like a stuck pig.
And now that the bag is finally off my head and my legs are untied, I find myself out in the middle of…