Family Money(57)

“I don’t know.” I knew she was probably just thinking out loud and not really asking me. “Can Del Luca do something to find out if this is real or not?”

She shook her head. “I can’t ask him to do that.”

“Why not?”

“Look out that window again. Al just shot and killed a CNI agent. He needs to go back to DC tonight and get some separation from this whole thing. Or else he’s going to find himself in serious trouble. Like I said, all of this was a favor to me. Nothing was sanctioned by any of his bosses. I can’t ask him to go back to Mexico again and start digging around to see if there is any truth to this. For one, I’m not sure I’m really buying it. If this was really from Joe, why wouldn’t he give you something more? The message is so brief and lacks any real confirmation. No photo, no explanation, nothing.”

“So what the hell am I supposed to do, Greta? Just forget about it?”

She sighed, considered it a moment. “Probably.”

“Are you serious? I thought you cared about him.”

“Listen to me, Alex. Even if this message was legitimate—and I have doubts about it—after what just happened out there on the sidewalk, Joe is surely dead by now. Or he will be shortly when word of this gets back to Mexico City tonight. If you want to protect yourself and your family, you should probably do exactly what Joe told you to do in that message. Let him go.”





THIRTY-SEVEN


I drove home reeling from my meeting with Greta. But I was grateful to finally have the full truth. My father-in-law was not a fraud like I had begun to believe. There was no extramarital affair. There was nothing sinister behind his secrets. Joe had been dealt an extraordinarily cruel set of circumstances early in his life. He’d responded the best way he could think of in what must have been an emotionally charged couple of days after his father had been killed. Unfortunately, the ripple from that response had carried forward for more than three decades before eventually catching up to him.

But I was still left with one daunting question: Where did I go from here? What Greta said made a lot of sense. When word got back to Miguel Cortez that his nephew had been shot and killed, the man would surely execute Joe on the spot if—and it was still a big if—my father-in-law had actually been alive earlier this afternoon and was the one who had sent me the text message.

Should I do what Greta suggested and let Joe go? Should I forget everything I’d just uncovered this past week, hope this all went away now that Antonio Perez was dead, and try to move on with my life? After all, Taylor, Carol, and my girls knew nothing about any of this. Our friends and family had all just said their goodbyes to Joe and were now beginning the process of healing from the loss. Could I do the same? Could I say goodbye to my father-in-law and bury these secrets forever? Joe had somehow managed to pull it off for thirty-five years. Was I capable of doing the same thing? Should I? I wasn’t sure yet.

I pulled my Tahoe into the garage, walked inside my quiet house. It was always odd when my girls were not around. I was so used to hearing the pitter-patter of their little feet on the hardwood floor and the various noises they made while playing, singing, or watching movies. I moved into my home office, fell into my executive office chair, spun around to look at the container that supposedly held Joe’s ashes.

Were they his? Someone else’s? Would I ever even know for sure?

My eyes drifted over to a framed photo of my father-in-law and me standing together for a photo op on the first tee of a charity golf tournament from this past year. Joe was smiling big with his arm wrapped around my shoulders. The memory was so fresh in my mind, and it wasn’t just because we enjoyed playing golf together.

“How’re you feeling today?” Joe had asked me.

We were carrying our golf bags up to the fancy clubhouse that was hosting the golf scramble today. The event was being put on to raise money for a local nonprofit called Mobile Loaves & Fishes that served the chronically homeless.

“Back is still a little stiff, but I think I’ll be all right.”

I had tweaked something in my back two days ago while building a new bookshelf in the girls’ upstairs playroom.

“Good. I don’t plan on losing this thing today.”

We shared a smile.

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

Setting our golf bags down, we walked up to a table where a couple of women were checking in golf participants. Dozens of guys were standing all around, some taking practice swings, others simply chatting it up before the tournament began. Most of the younger men looked a lot like their older partners. That was because this was a father-son golf tournament, which made me feel a little uncomfortable. But Joe had insisted on us playing together. We waited in line until it was our time to register.

“Names?” one of the gals asked my father-in-law.

“Joe Dobson. This is my son, Alex Mahan.”

“Well, son-in-law,” I clarified, feeling awkward.

We each got a packet with a sleeve of golf balls, tees, and a towel.

Then Joe pulled me off to the side for a moment. “Listen, I want you to know that I never think of you like a son-in-law. My heart says differently. You are my son, Alex. You became my son the moment you married my daughter. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

I exhaled deeply, knowing I sat at a crossroads. I could get up, climb back into my car, drive out to the lake house, join my family, and move on with my life.