Page 70 of Only the Devil
“Absolutely.” I take the phone and study a photograph of a beautiful teenager with long, dark, wavy hair and a beautiful smile. She doesn’t look too much like her father, which makes me wonder if she takes after her mother. If so, her mother must be gorgeous.
After we’re seated, I hand his phone back to him and say, “She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”
“Alexandra.” He’s flushed with pride.
Obviously, even people breaking the law have children, but this is a different side of Phillip I didn’t anticipate. From what I’ve gathered thus far, he hasn’t technically done anything illegal. Yes, one of his funds failed—plus there’s the suspicious death in Asia— but the crypto funds he’s creating are high risk. Risky means there’s risk. And there’s no law against targeting veterans or the elderly. If they’d earned out, no one would have ever complained. There wouldn’t have been a class action lawsuit discussed.
We talk about his daughter after the waiter takes our order, with me asking questions and him answering like a person who is seizing the opportunity to talk about a person he loves.
“Alexandra loves Virginia, but I’m hopeful she’ll attend college in Florida.”
“That would make Miami that much more appealing. If she chooses a different location for college, would you reconsider Miami?”
“I’m not certain.” His eyes glaze over, and I sense he’s giving the idea consideration, although I’m sure he’s thought about it before now. “You stayed in LA for quite a while. What finally pushed you to move away from your mother?”
Is he worried his daughter won’t leave her mother? I swirl my wine, unsure how honest I wish to be with my boss.
“I moved for college.” I offer a soft smile, wanting to give him hope that his daughter will find her independence, if that’s his concern. “Most people leave home eventually. It’s like...natural user migration.”
I fiddle with my napkin in my lap, debating if I should say more, but I hardly know his daughter. I can’t tell him she’ll definitely be willing to move away from her mother.
As the waiter sets down our plates, Sterling asks, “What about your family? Any siblings?”
“A sister. She’s at the University of San Diego.” I twirl pasta around my fork, grateful for something to do with my hands.
“And your mother plans to stay in Los Angeles?”
“Oh, she’ll never leave.” I don’t mention my father—that’s a conversation I avoid.
“It must have been difficult, moving so far from family.” His tone is conversational, but something about the way he’s cutting his chicken piccata feels unnecessarily precise and controlled.
“Though I suppose you had other family connections that encouraged you to make the transition.” A small warning ping goes off in my head, like when antivirus software detects something suspicious but can’t quite identify the threat.
“Not really. I’m pretty self-sufficient.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Independence is admirable. Though family ties can be...complicated, can’t they? Especially when they involve financial obligations.”
I set down my fork, feeling like I’m slow on the uptake. “I’m sorry, what do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing specific.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I was thinking about my own situation with Alexandra. You know how family can leave you feeling responsible for their choices, their mistakes.”
The pasta suddenly tastes like cardboard. “I suppose.”
“Take my ex-wife, for instance. She made some poor investment decisions before our divorce. Cost us both, but I couldn’t let Alexandra suffer for her mother’s choices.” He takes a sip of wine, studying me over the rim. “Family loyalty makes us do things we might not otherwise do, doesn’t it?”
My stomach clenches. This conversation has taken an unsettling turn, but I can’t pinpoint exactly when or how or why. “I guess that depends on the situation.”
“Indeed it does.” He signals the waiter for more wine. “I imagine you understand that better than most. You mentioned your uncle earlier,” he says casually, as if commenting on the weather. “Alvin Reed, wasn’t it?”
My pulse slows, and awareness sharpens—the hum of the air conditioning, the cold creeping into my skin. I never mentioned my uncle. Not once during this entire dinner. Not ever. “I...didn’t mention him.”
“Didn’t you?” His eyebrows raise in mock surprise. “I could have sworn... Well, perhaps I read it somewhere.” He cuts another piece of meat with surgical precision.
My fingers tremble. I grip my thighs to steady them and to dry my palms. “How do you know about my uncle?”
“Daisy.” His voice is patient, like he’s explaining something obvious to a child. “You’re part of my executive team now. Of course, I know about your family. Your uncle’s unfortunate losses, his...disappointment with certain investment outcomes.” He leans back in his chair. “I hope you understand that your new position comes with certain expectations. Loyalties, if you will.”
“What kind of loyalties?”
