Page 65 of Chasing Infinity

My father doesn’t waste any time and serves himself. I follow his lead, wishing the time would speed up so I could find out what he wants and get the hell out of here.

“So, Noah, how’s work been?” my father questions me, breaking the silence. He watches me with his beady brown eyes as he stabs a piece of his steak with his fork and raises it to his lips. I get the uncomfortable feeling that I’m being set up so I make the decision to proceed with caution. “Youdohave a job, right?”

“Yes, and it’s been fine,” I reply simply, not offering any type of embellishment.

“What is it you’re doing these days? I don’t recall receiving a graduation announcement from you. Did you even get a degree?”

“I did. I’m just doing freelance work—little of this, little of that.”

“In what field?”

I run my tongue over my teeth. I’m definitely being set up. “Communications.”

My father observes me with a gleam in his eye as if he knows more than he’s letting on. I clench my jaw. “I see.”

Dinner continues with awkward bouts of silence in between a few prodding questions. My father is trying to get me to open up and talk to him, but that’s the last thing I’ll do. He’s not attempting to disguise his goal of getting answers out of me, which makes me more uncomfortable with the whole evening.

My father wipes at his mouth with the white cloth napkin when we’re both finished. He then pushes his chair away from the table, glancing over at his staff as they immediately flood in to start clearing dishes.

“I thought we could head to my study and discuss a few things. Do you have anywhere else to be this evening?” he asks me in feign interest.

Anywhere but here, I think to myself as I stand but offer him the answer he’s looking for.

As we walk down the hallway towards my father’s office, his phone begins to ring. My father pulls his device out of his pocket, glances at the screen, and then waves me forward.

“You go ahead, Noah. I’ll just be a moment.”

I dip my chin as he turns and paces away from me, answering his phone with a brisk, “Speak.”

His office is the third door on the left, and I find myself standing alone in the room, surrounded by all the ghosts of my childhood. It’s not a large space, but I remember it felt like walking into a throne room when I was young. The big looming oak desk the throne my father sat behind right before delivering his judgments.

I step towards the desk, running my hand along the smooth wood. His workspace is clear, with no wayward notes or documents lying around for me to sift through. Taking a glance at the door and deciding I have enough time, I settle myself in his chair and run my hands down each drawer, giving them a slight tug as I pass over.

All locked.

I skim my hands along the bottom side of the desk on the off chance—there.

My jaw nearly drops as my fingers run over the edge of a piece of paper taped up against the bottom of his desk. I shoot another look at the door, straining my ears to see if I can hear his deep voice coming closer. Swiftly I duck beneath the desk and turn on the flashlight of my phone, aiming it towards what I’ve found.

Scrawled on a scrap of paper are two series of numbers. Nine digits, then twelve. Bank information.

My eyebrows knit together as I process what I’ve found. This could easily be a misdirect planted by my father specifically for me to find. It wouldn’t be a stretch if he’s suspecting that I’ve been onto him. Or it could actually be something beneficial. It might be a long shot, but at this point I need to follow every lead I can get.

I hear the volume of my father’s voice increasing, alerting me that he’s heading back to the study. I quickly take a picture of the scratch paper and text it to Charlie before rolling out from underneath his desk and standing up straight, righting my clothes. I turn around and pretend to be observing his collection of books as he opens the door and steps in.

“Looking for some light reading?” my father sneers, and I instantly know that he’s onto me.

I turn around and stick my hands in my pockets trying to play cool. “Always looking for something to read, have any recommendations?”

“Cut the shit, Noah. I’m getting tired of your games,” he says darkly, taking this conversation into a whole new territory.

I glare back at him, squaring my shoulders and walking around from behind the desk. “I could say the same to you.”

He chuckles under his breath and strides over to the minibar, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “Bourbon or Scotch?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What are you having?”

“Still think I’m trying to poison you?” he asks with a laugh, then shakes his head. “You always were one for dramatics.”

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