James Grippando - A King's ransom

“I had no idea things were so tight for you.”

“Your father’s company hasn’t turned a profit in eighteen months. At least, none that he’s seen. Now, does that look like the financial portfolio of a man who holds the keys to secret bank accounts with millions of dollars?”

“No, but. .”

“But what?”

“I’m trying to think like Duncan Fitz.”

“And you’re thinking what?”

“This does sound like a man who might defraud an insurance company.”

“Your dad didn’t defraud anyone.” She rubbed her eyes, as if a headache were coming on. She got up and went to the sink for a glass of water. From the side, the pregnancy was definitely starting to show.

“I guess the baby on the way only added to the financial stress.”

“What are you suggesting? You think your father bought a kidnap-and-ransom policy so that we could build a life for our new baby on the proceeds of insurance fraud?”

“Not at all. It’s just that these credit cards are like a black hole. I wish he’d come to me. I could have helped out.”

She looked at me as if I were crazy. “Do you think in a million years that your father would come to his own son asking for money?”

“I suppose not.”

“You suppose . Nick, he used to agonize for two days before getting up the nerve to call you on the phone and invite you over for dinner.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“And that’s the whole problem between you and your dad. Neither one of you is ever at fault.”

“You know the truth, Mom. You know how he used to be.”

“That’s in the past. You have to forgive him for that.”

“I have.”

“But have you ever told him that?” Her tone made it sound more like an accusation than a question.

“I think so.”

“Yes, and I’ll tell you why you think so. Because you’ve had the conversation in your mind so many times that it feels real to you. But it never happened. You have to make it happen.”

“I will. Or I’d like to anyway. But what do you expect me to do about it now?”

“Stop blaming your father for the way he used to drink, the way he used to be. A fifty-one-year-old man shouldn’t be made to feel like he has to start a whole new family to find a child who loves him.”

“What?” I said, incredulous.

She brought a hand to her mouth, as if wishing she hadn’t said that.

“This is crazy,” I said. “You know I love Dad. He knows it.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“But you meant it.”

Her eyes clouded as she laid a hand on her pregnant belly. “It’s not that your father has given up on his children. He just wanted another chance.”

“I’ll give him as many chances as he needs.”

“Maybe you will. And when he finally comes home, maybe you can look him in the eye and tell him so.”

Her take on me and Dad was so simplistic, I knew she didn’t understand. The issue wasn’t whether I could forgive him for his drinking. I could have certainly done that. The man hadn’t touched alcohol in fifteen years. That’s why she had forgiven him. For her, Dad’s drinking had been a chronic weakness, a dark chapter in their lives that they’d put behind them. For me, it all boiled down to a single moment on a single day-the one and only day he’d ever taken me lobster diving with him. The hurt that had lasted all these years stemmed not from his alcoholism but from the words that seemed to flow instinctively from his mouth in a moment of crisis on the boat that day, something no twelve-year-old boy should ever hear from his father.

I didn’t even try to sort that out with my mother. But there was one thing we’d left unresolved.

“Mom, we haven’t talked about Lindsey.”

“Yes, I think we have.” She gave me a long look, as if to say that everything that had gone wrong between my father and me applied double to his daughter.

“It’s a very serious accusation they’ve thrown at her. But so far it’s just an accusation.”

“I haven’t spoken to your sister since her birthday.”

“Has Dad?”

“Yes.”

“When was the last time?”

“I don’t know. But I think they’ve actually even seen each other a few times down in Nicaragua.”

“Was it an ugly thing, or were they on good terms?”

“Let me put it this way. Your father and Lindsey have never been that close. But they were never, never that far apart.”

“Thanks, Mom. That’s a help.”

She nodded as if to say “You’re welcome,” then quietly left the room.

She didn’t immediately say no. That I took as a real positive, since it was the biggest favor I’d asked of Jenna in the five years I’d known her, and the asking had come two months after our busted engagement.

Admittedly her name hadn’t been at the top of my list, but Judge Korvan had ordered me to find co-counsel, and I was having trouble finding someone. The lawyers I knew best either worked for Cool Cash or were Cool Cash alums who earned a good chunk of their annual income on referrals from their old firm. No one was willing to cut off that gravy train just to take my case. I couldn’t blame them, especially since I couldn’t pay them. With no job, I had no income. If my father had a Nicaraguan company with millions of dollars in hidden assets, as the FBI suspected, his loved ones had seen no evidence of it. As it was, Mom and I would have to borrow money to pay the ransom. I needed an attorney who would take the case on a handshake and a promise to be paid somewhere down the line. And it had to be someone I could trust with a potentially dark family secret.

After eleven strikeouts and considerable agonizing, I put my ego aside and finally called Jenna. I’d talked to her twice since the kidnapping. Both times she’d told me to call if there was anything she could do to help. Both times I’d been unable to conceive of any possible circumstances under which she might actually lend a hand. Slowly, however, as one lawyer after another concocted an excuse, I talked myself into asking her to work by my side, not really sure what to expect. Certainly I hadn’t banked on the good twenty seconds of silence that preceded her reply.

A good sign, I told myself, waiting. An immediate answer would never be yes.

Finally she spoke. “We should talk about this.”

I nearly dropped the phone. “Sure. Whenever you like.”

“I can meet you tonight for dinner.”

With that, I actually did drop the phone but quickly got myself together. She selected the restaurant, one that the two of us had never been to together. A wise choice. No ghosts.

“Meet you there at seven,” she said.

“Terrific.”

She was about to hang up, but I caught her just before she did. “Jenna?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“But you had every right to give me a flat-out no.”

I imagined she was flashing the faint smile that I knew so well. “Maybe so,” she said.

“I just want you to know that I’m grateful you’d even consider doing this for me.”

She paused, then said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, all right? But if I decide to do this, it will be for your dad.”

I detected no animosity in her tone. Still, I wasn’t sure how to take it. “That’s as it should be,” I said.

“Right. As it should be. I’ll see you tonight, then?”

“Sure.” I said good-bye and hung up the phone.

I’d always thought of Jenna as wiser than me. We’d met at the University of Florida when she was a third-year law student and I was still an undergraduate headed for law school in the fall. After six months of dating, we moved in together. She took a job as a prosecutor in Gainesville, bought a house not too far from the law school campus, and for the next three years served as my best friend and live-in tutor for contracts, torts, civil procedure, and, of course, the real-life version of domestic relations. I aced all but the last of those subjects, though she didn’t present the failing grade until after we’d moved to Miami.