Page 53 of Remy

My heart skips a pained beat. “Let us down how?”

“They denied assistance for costly experimental treatments she hoped to try. And when she went to seek a second opinion from a more experienced doctor, they warned her that doing so would be considered out-of-network care. Even without moving forward on those options we were left majorly out of pocket due to our level of coverage.”

My eyes mist. “If I’d known she went without, I could’ve…” Could’ve what? You were a teenager. What could you have achieved that your grown-ass parents couldn’t facilitate?

“There was nothing that could’ve been done. I tried everything. I even begged. But the corporate greed cycle didn’t care. The healthcare system in this country is corrupt and the knowledge has eaten away at me ever since.” He straightens his shoulders. “So when I got sick, I knew something had to change. The definition of insanity is doing something over and over again and expecting different results.”

I swallow over the lump in my throat. “Dad…”

“I’m not insane, Liv. I entered into this agreement willingly. I chose this path.”

I shake my head. I don’t believe him. I can’t. “But they’re killing people. They’re illegally disposing of bodies in our retort.”

“What they’re disposing of is none of my business. Any actions taken would still be carried out whether I was financially compensated for the hire of the equipment or not.”

Actions?

“They’re not actions, Dad. They’re crimes. Murders. Ones that will put us behind bars.”

“We won’t get caught.” He grabs my hand in both of his. “Not if you keep quiet.”

I drag my arm away in shock.

They’ve brainwashed him. Indoctrinated my father into some sort of sick cult.

“Liv, please. I know this situation seems appalling, but I’ve learned that this world isn’t as black and white as I once taught you.”

I’m definitely seeing more of a spectrum of color at the moment. However, morally grey isn’t something I want in my wheelhouse.

“This isn’t you.” I push to my feet. “They’ve messed with your head somehow.”

“No. I’m more sure than I’ve ever been. I trust Remy. He’s the one who’s helped me.” He peers up at me, his eyes beseeching. “Our health insurance didn’t care about my diagnosis. They didn’t offer additional support or assistance. Even the wait to see an oncologist was detrimentally excessive until Rem made some calls.”

My gaze turns to the so-called trustworthy son of a bitch who leans with quiet indifference against the side of my father’s favorite recliner, emotionless yet still somehow exuding arrogance.

“How did you meet?” I demand. “Tell me how all this started. I want to know everything.”

“I crossed paths with his uncle a long time ago,” my father offers. “He came here for a friend’s funeral, his reputation proceeding him. What I was unaware of, though, was his charisma. He sought me out at the wake for what began as a casual conversation. But the longer we talked, the more I enjoyed his company.”

“Of course you enjoyed his company,” I press. “You were his mark.”

“Maybe.” He gives a fond smile. A fond fucking smile. “He praised me on his friend’s service and then went on to compliment our facilities. He didn’t hide who he was. He admitted that his line of work was probably exactly what I imagined—neither moral nor honorable. Then he made a joke about how we should work together. That the use of my equipment would be a great asset to his organization that would be handsomely rewarded.”

“He played to your ego.”

“He did.” My father inclines his head. “And I laughed him off, soon bidding him farewell without a backward glance. He didn’t contact me. Didn’t bribe, pressure, or threaten me. I didn’t even think much of our conversation again until your mom’s hospital bills began to accumulate and make life more difficult. But I never sought him out.” Dad returns to his knuckle examination. “Not even after we lost Melissa and I became jaded. I did everything I was supposed to—I focused on reducing the debt from her treatments, and we bounced with the helping hand of a pandemic. I tried to be a good father. I kept my anger to myself. I gave back to my community. I helped others with their grief while I remained overwhelmed by my own. Then cancer came for me, too.”

My eyes burn, not only with sadness and rage, but resentment at the world. My damn tear ducts are running the gamut today.

“I promised myself I’d never let the animosity that changed me during your mother’s battle get anywhere near you. I refused to let the banks touch a dime of your inheritance. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to let them take the business and family home that’s been a part of the Pelosi name for generations. So years after that one random conversation, I reached out to Lorenzo. It was me, Liv. I did this.”

I don’t know what to say. What to feel.

I want to be angry at him. For making choices that can—and have—affected the very foundation of my life. But all that rattles around inside me is anguished heartache and hollowing shock.

He’s suffered for so long without me taking notice. Far longer than the months of my ignorance since the cancer diagnosis.

“Dad—”

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