Page 43 of The Night We Lost Him

I think of Carmen. I think of the photographs of my father on the wall. He was always presenting himself in the same way—smart and eager and solid. The best version of himself. That’s the only version of himself that he showed me—in the pieces, the compartments, he’d allow me to see him. But what didn’t he want to show me? What didn’t he want to share with any of his children? And why?

“Nora? Who should we be talking to?”

“Dad,” I say.

— Part II —

Architecture appears for the first time when the sunlight hits a wall. The sunlight did not know what it was before it hit a wall.

—Louis Kahn

Not All Road Trips Lead You Home

Somewhere over Colorado, we make a plan.

I spread my father’s will and the police report on our tray tables, Sam powering up his laptop. He shifts the computer screen so I can see too.

“There’s a lot of shared files at the company, so I have some access even remotely. See? The calendars and scheduling are all shared. That’s how I knew about the meetings with the lawyers…” He motions toward a date on his screen. “And here’s Inez’s event from last month…”

“So all of Dad’s commitments were shared on here?” I ask.

“Not all, but a lot of them were. Certainly anything that conflicted with something important that was happening at Noone,” he says. “His desktop might have a more complete inventory.”

I motion to Sam’s laptop. “Did Dad also have a laptop?”

“Yep. Everyone on the executive team does.”

“Would that be at the office?”

“Should be,” he says. “It certainly wasn’t at Windbreak. I combed through that office. Now Clark has too.”

He clicks through to his most recent iMessages. Clark has sent along several photographs he’s taken of our father’s Windbreak office, as well as a detailed inventory of what’s still in his desk, on the shelves. He’s confirmed for us what we suspected: our father’s cell phone isn’t at Windbreak, either.

“So, let’s assume we can’t find his actual phone,” I say. “Where would we be most likely to find the backup to his phone? Was there a company server? Could it be downloaded on his work computer?”

Sam shakes his head. “I don’t know. If it were on the company network, I should have access on here and I don’t.”

“Who would have access?”

“To his personal laptop? Uncle Joe, probably. Though he’s a dead end as you saw.”

I nod, trying to go through it in my mind—my father’s inner circle, his trusted advisors: Joe, who isn’t talking, at least to us; Grace, who is no longer here. Which is when I hit on my father’s general counsel again. Jonathan hadn’t been working with my father for as long as Grace and Joe, but he had certainly been there long enough to have access to things we don’t.

“What about Jonathan?”

Sam shakes his head. “Steel box.”

“Why? Attorney-client privilege?”

“For one thing. Also, every time I try to touch on anything about Dad, he keeps saying there is nothing to know that I don’t already know…”

“Those are opposite statements.”

“Exactly.”

He shrugs, turns back to my computer.

“He’s a lawyer, and he’s good at it. If there was anything sensitive that he knows about, he’s not offering it up. I mean, the day after Dad died, Jonathan had a new lock put on Dad’s office door that only a few people can open.”

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