He taps a stapled packet—news clippings highlighted in neon.
“The Henderson merger. The Trawley scandal. The—what was it—oh yes, the Fairmont Hotels crisis.” He lists them while barely glancing at the pages. He’s memorized this. “Pretty intense situations. Must have spent a lot of late nights at the office.”
The metallic taste of anxiety floods my mouth. He knows. Or he’s fishing. I can’t tell which is worse.
“It’s a demanding industry.”
“Is that why Mr. Delacroix joined your board of advisors when you started Morgan & Company? Because of those...demanding times you shared?”
I force my hands to stay flat on my thighs, not to fidget, not to touch my watch—my tell, Richard always called it. “He had valuable experience. Several former colleagues served as advisors.”
“Several.” Click. Click. Click. “But Matthew Delacroix was special, wasn’t he? He stayed on for—what—five years?”
“Three.”
“Three.” He makes a note, but I catch his slight smile. He knew the real answer. Testing me. “And when did you last speak to Mr. Delacroix?”
This is where it gets treacherous. Lie, and they probably have phone records, emails, something. Tell the truth, and?—
“I hadn’t spoken to him in approximately six years.”
“Approximately.” The word hangs between us like a blade. “So you’re saying that when you walked into that conference, you hadn’t seen or spoken to Delacroix in six years?”
“We hadn’t spoken on the phone in six years. Our paths had crossed at industry events but we hadn’t spoken—that I recall.”
He stands abruptly, the chair scraping against the linoleum with the effect of fingernails on a chalkboard. “I’ll be right back.”
The door closes with a soft click that sounds like a gunshot in the silence.
Ten minutes pass. Nothing.
While Richard is the last person I’d want to bring into this, if this goes long I may need him to pick up Stella. Trish mentioned that Jane, her daughter, has piano lessons at five.
* * *
Me to Dick: Are you busy?
* * *
The phone rings.
* * *
Me to Dick: I can’t talk. I’m at the police station. Answering questions. But they’ve left me in a room. Stella is at Jane’s house. I need to pick her up no later than 4:45. If this runs long, can you pick her up?
* * *
Dick: I’ll get her. Send me the address. I vaguely remember the house.
* * *
Me to Dick: Thank you.
* * *
While Richard and I haven’t always seen eye to eye—obviously—I have to give credit where it’s due. He’s a good father and while he has an important job as a partner at a corporate law firm, he always prioritizes our daughter.
Of course, I hate to turn to him for help.