Fall With Me

return the stare. I’m still not sure if he knows exactly who I am, but just the way he’s acting tells me that he knows something.
     
    *
     
    I wake up while it’s still dark, and for a while I lie in bed next to Griffin and watch the sky turn from inky, midnight blue to a light gray. If I’m going to do something, I might as well do it now. There might not be another chance.
    I slip out of bed. Griffin stirs but does not wake. His mouth is slightly open, one arm thrown above his head. He looks entirely at peace.
    I walk down the hallway to Carl’s study. I pause outside the door and listen; everything’s quiet. I peek in. The built-in bookshelves are lined with leather-bound tomes. The desk sits at the back of the room, by the windows. There are paintings on the walls, and I wonder, as I step into the study, if there’s a safe hidden behind one of them.
    I go over to the desk. I don’t know what I’m looking for, maybe something that might somehow shed some light on anything, but I am suddenly overcome with the certainty that there is something, and I’ll know it when I see it.
    I open a few drawers. There are papers, documents, one drawer full of pens and paper clips. I ruffle through the papers and see nothing that really makes any sense. I get to the bottom right hand drawer and pull. It doesn’t budge.
    I straighten, and look around the room. If there’s a key, he probably keeps it on him, or in his briefcase or something. I open the top middle drawer again and extract the silver letter opener. Picking locks was never one of my specialties, but I’d done it on a few occasions and hoped I might get lucky once more.
    I slide the letter opener into the lock when I hear a noise behind me. I freeze, thinking that maybe it’s someone just walking past the study, but out of the corner of my eye I see Carl step into view.
    “Isn’t this interesting,” he says. “I’d ask you what the hell you thought you were doing, but I don’t think you’d give me an honest answer.”
    I stand. “I’m looking for something.”
    “For something,” he repeats. “And what might that something be?”
    I say nothing.
    “I knew you looked familiar,” he continues. “You’re a dead ringer for your father. And then I asked Griffin what your last name was. Freyss-Charon . . . your father was Michael Charon, wasn’t he?”
              He has the oddest look on his face. Like he’s happy and perplexed and extremely agitated all at the same time. He chuckles. “My son finally finds a decent woman to be with and she turns out to be the daughter of Michael Charon. Am I correct, Jill? Is Michael Charon your father? And your mother . . . Annabel Freyss? Is that correct?”
              I nod, and he laughs, a deep belly laugh even though, as far as I can tell, nothing funny has been said.
    He stops laughing and takes a step toward me, then another. I back up, narrowly missing the edge of his executive desk.
    “There’s something I want you to understand,” he says. “I am a very wealthy man. Wealth is a good thing. Unfortunately, you can’t always amass large amounts of wealth by only doing good things. Sometimes, the things you must do are . . . less than desirable, shall we say. It’s simply a fact of life. It has always been that way, and it will continue to be that way until the end of time. If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.” He rubs his palms together. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Jill?”
    “Sure,” I say, taking another step back. Each step he takes toward me, I take one away from him. I hope I am getting closer to the door. I hope Griffin will get back here soon. “I get it. You’re rich. Congratulations.”
    He raises an eyebrow. “I can see why my son likes you. You’re both wise-asses who probably know a little too much for your own good. Like your father. Did you know I knew your father? He used to work for me.”
    “Yes, I knew that,” I say.
    “Tragic, what happened to him. Your mother, too. You see, your father, Jill, was one of those ignorant men who liked to get in the way if he felt things were not being carried out in a fair and just manner. Rather noble of him, if you think about it, but naïve. For a while, I considered him one of my best employees. He really cared about doing a good job. But then he started sticking his nose in places it didn’t belong. Started asking questions, and then, when he didn’t like the answers,