1968, my husband went out to get a pack of cigarettes and some milk and he never came home. How about that for a surprise?”
Silence falls over the table.
Mom cuts a little piece of salmon, drizzles it with lemon and pops it into her mouth.
The three of us sit still, trying to figure out how to respond or whether a response is needed at all.
Later that night, long after Mom goes to sleep, and after Lincoln and I have a few more cocktails and talk about old times, I head up to the guest room two doors down from the main bedroom and open my laptop.
I want to go through Vasko's financials again more thoroughly. I've had a few drinks and the numbers all blend together. Despite that the returns are paltry, they seem to be going around through various rounds of investment, just trying to raise money.
But where's the money going? I can't find out exactly.
The expenses are very vague.
The companies that the money's paid to seem shady as well, more like shell companies than anything else.
To get to the bottom of this would require the work of a private financial investigator.
But I have until tomorrow to decide.
Cedar has never made that kind of threat to me before. I have worked at this company for years. I have brought in a number of investors and the companies that we invested in have sold for millions and millions, bringing us massive profits along with a number of happy angel investors and their friends.
If I were to invest in Vasko, I would put my reputation on the line. In this business, my reputation is all I have.
But Cedar is my boss, the owner, and if he says that we need to invest and that he'll fire me if we don't, then I don't exactly have a choice.
I don't want to talk loudly on the phone and I have a hard time modulating the sound of my voice after a little bit of alcohol.
I take my phone out for some fresh air.
I haven't been to the coast in ages and the walk is only a quarter of a mile away. I make my way through the meadow, past the weeping willows, and finally onto the rugged coastline of Cape Cod, filled with swaying grasses and dunes of sand. The stars are out and the sky is clear for once. But an arctic blast chills me to my bones even though I'm wearing a hefty winter jacket.
I scramble over the dunes, trying to find the path which had been swept over with sand and snow. When I finally get to the shoreline and see a figure walking in the distance.
Who could that be?
This isn't a private beach, but about as close to being private as you can get. The nearest house is five acres away and no one is usually around this time of year, except for my mom and a few other locals.
I pick up my feet.
Gaining ground, she hears me and when she turns back to look at me, moonlight hits her face and I see that it’s Marguerite.
30
Dante
"Hey, what's up? Is everything okay?" I break into a jog to catch up even though she averts her face and speeds up.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when I get to her.
Marguerite’s nose is a little runny, but she doesn't look like she's been crying.
"Why are you all the way out here? It's so cold. I thought you went to bed."
"I can go on a walk if I want. I don’t need your permission," she snaps.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by…” My voice trails off.
She is right, of course. It’s none of my business.
I take a few steps back and let her get ahead, but she turns back on her heels.
"Listen, I'm sorry for snapping. I just needed to leave that house. Your mom is very difficult to deal with."
Marguerite and I were pretty close when they first started dating, but over the years, we sort of drifted apart. The only time we ever saw each other was when they were a couple doing couple things. If I were ever alone with one of them, it was always my brother. Talking to her like this feels a little odd.
"Thanks for coming out…to Cape Cod, I mean,” she says, gesturing for me to keep walking. “This whole announcement would have been so much harder if you weren’t here.”
I nod.
“You like to go out on walks in freezing cold weather?” I ask.
“I need some fresh