A thief was someone who stole. But to me, a thief stole to patch up parts of his broken self. We were all thieves in some aspects. If someone took away your happiness or sanity without your consent, was he a thief too? How about all the corrupt politicians who stole from the common people by approving laws that only benefited them? Wasn’t that thievery as well?
“Helen was a very intelligent woman who saw things most didn’t,” my father said, still staring at the courtyard.
“She was,” I agreed.
My father turned, studying me. “I see her in you. I miss her.”
After my mother died, I hired someone to monitor my father. I was curious if he’d taken on a mistress like my uncle. My uncle had several mistresses, but his wife had her own men on the side too.
But my father didn’t disrespect my mother. He loved her and only her. For that reason I remained cordial... and hopeful that one day he and I could reconcile.
Life was hard and lonely after she died. The Condor and Ralph became my family, my father figures. Resentment stirred in my gut, and I just wanted to attend the banquet to celebrate Reimann Corporation having acquired another bank and head back to Providence.
The urge to be with Elena had grown during the past week. I needed to see her, touch her, and tell her I was ready to date.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” I turned to him. He’d left me a voicemail asking to talk, which surprised me.
“Jasper has been asking to buy Quintile Island.”
“And you told him persistence pays off.”
He chuckled. “He has selective hearing. I told him there are other islands for sale.”
“I’m not selling it.”
“Good.” A smirk slid onto my father’s lips, followed by a relaxed expression I had never seen on him.
For a moment I thought I saw pride gleam in his eyes. Or had that been my imagination? My dad had never shown any sign he was proud of me. Not when I aced all my exams, won top prizes at all the tournaments, or graduated top of my class.
“That’s what I have left of Mom. Nothing is going to make me sell it. Not even a dead body.”
My dad’s face hardened. “Who died?”
“A lawyer named Aaron Turner from New York. Do you know him?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. Do you need me to ask around?”
My eyebrows furrowed at the offer. “I’ve got it. But thank you.”
He nodded slowly. “Don’t let anyone on there that you don’t know.”
“Why?” What did he know that I didn’t?
“Because that’s your mother’s sacred place—our sacred place. It was where she told me she loved me. She left something for you on the island, but I don’t know what or where it is. She was going to tell me the day she died.”
What did she leave for me? Was it in the house I was living in?
“She enjoys patterns like the mandala in the courtyard. Maybe she designed something like that for you. Let me know when you find it.”
“How do you know I’ll find it?”
His eyes sparked, and for a moment, I thought he knew I was a thief. But then he said, “Your mom used to say that things reveal themselves when they’re meant to.”
A knock sounded on the door, and my dad straightened his posture. “Who is it?”
“Jonah.”
“Come in.” Dad’s face transformed into the stony expression I remembered so well.