Page 143 of Smooth Sailing

Dad had no more to say, even when he came to me with a filled martini glass that included a silver pick stabbed through four fat olives.

I took it from him with murmured gratitude and tried not to down it in one.

He made his own martini (with the Hendrick’s) and moved to sit opposite us.

Now the strange quotient was off the charts, because my father was sitting opposite me, but I had no clue what to say.

“How is Suzette?” Dad asked.

“She’s been moved to protective custody,” I told him.

Was it me? Or did his shoulders slightly slump with relief?

“I think that’s wise,” he remarked. “Was she okay with it?”

“She’s with her parents, so yes,” I said.

Dad’s brows drew together. “She’s with her parents?”

“Actually, her name is Madison. She was abducted in Texas, trafficked, purchased by Imran Babic’s son, who was the one, along with a couple of his buds, who violated her,” I shared.

Dad winced.

“Imran got in touch with her, threatened her, forcing her to make a false report,” I went on. “All that’s straightened out now.”

“In the end, you should know, I was pleased you encouraged me to drop him as a client. I can’t say all my clients are angels, but, particularly, Babic is not a good man,” Dad proclaimed.

I didn’t exactly encourage him.

But if he wanted to look at it that way, I’d take it.

Dad kept going.

“His son is…” a long hesitation before he finished, “worse.”

I’d never met the guy, didn’t want to, but I knew he was definitely…worse.

Dad then looked to Hugger. “Thank you for looking after my daughter and, erm, Madison through that.”

“My job as her guy,” Hugger replied smoothly before sipping from his Coke.

I bumped him with an elbow.

He made no show I did it except I caught an upward twitch of his beard.

“All right,” Dad said, suddenly talking in his booming lawyer voice, which made me jump.

Hugger slid an arm along my shoulders.

Dad kept talking, and he did this directly to me.

“I’d like to get past this first part as it might be something that will make you annoyed, but it must be done, so let’s do it and move beyond it.”

Here we go.

Before I could waylay him in possibly being a dick, Dad kept going.

“I’ve set up a trust with what I’m assuming was your tuition, and also rent and an allocation for food and sundries,” he began. “This for both your undergraduate and graduate degrees. There will be tax implications for any income and distributions you get from it. But you don’t have to pay taxes on the principal. If you have any questions about any of that, you can speak to my accountant.”

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