Scar
I finish packing the bags. Rita’s up in the living room with Molly, finishing off another bottle of champagne. She can sleep on the flight back to Dallas.
I’m already thinking logistics. Contracts. Apartments. A new move, a new life. Taking on the Callahan family is like beginning over again. I’ll have to let some clients go-the Callahan network sprawls too wide and too deep. They’ll keep me too busy for some of my smaller jobs. I told Orin I wouldn’t give him special treatment, but we both know that’s bullshit.
Joining the family means loyalty to death.
Except what will that mean for Rita? I worry about her as I finish getting our things together. When we inevitably stage our breakup and get our divorce, will Orin let her walk away? Will Molly try to patch things over? Will Rita feel like she’s losing something all over again? I don’t want to drag her through that, not if I can help it, but we both know the deal.
Only I’m not sure why it’s worth chasing anymore.
I leave the room, heading in search of my fake-wife to let her know it’s time to hit the road, but someone calls my name. I pause, surprised, and hear it again, coming from a room off the main foyer on the first floor.
I step into the doorway. It’s the billiards room-two big pool tables with a bar across the far wall. A fire’s crackling in the fireplace.
And standing with stick in hand is Gregory Callahan.
He chalks the tip, smiling at me, eyes squinted. I stare in surprise. I hadn’t expected to see him. I knew I’d have to deal with Gregory again sooner or later-I couldn’t exactly work for his family without running into the man-but I thought I dodged this bullet.
Instead, the bullet’s here, and it’s staring at me with an aggressive smirk.
“How are you doing, Scar?” he asks. “Father told me you were here. I take it the weekend went well?”
“It did,” I say stiffly. I remain in the doorway, caught between leaving and staying. “He offered to hire me.”
“That’s good, that’s good.” Gregory puts the chalk down. “I knew he would. I told him to.”
My eyebrows raise. “You did?”
“Here’s the thing.” He comes around the table, strolling to the bar. He’s wearing black slacks and a tucked-in white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, showing off his tattoos. “Lawyers are a necessary evil. They’re unpleasant, mainly because dealing with them means dealing with the law. And I find the law extremely inconvenient.”
“I’m sure you do,” I murmur, eyeing him cautiously. I don’t really love the way he’s characterizing my profession, but he’s also correct. Most people only interact with a lawyer when their life isn’t going well.
“My thinking on lawyers is simple. Find the best liar and hire him.” Gregory pours a glass of whiskey for himself. “Want one?”
I slowly shake my head. “Are you implying that I’m the best liar?”
“Exactly,” he says, raising the glass. “See, Scar, I could smell it on you from the moment we met. All those lies you tell.”
“About what, exactly?” I ask, anger rumbling, but also something worse. Worry. Anxiety. “I’ve been nothing but honest with your father.”
“Have you?” Gregory throws back his drink. “From my perspective, there’s one glaring problem. Her name’s Rita.”
My jaw tightens. What the fuck does he know? I’ve been careful. I put down my paper trail and made sure to backdate it. I paid out bribes. I made sure if anyone went looking, they’d find only proof that I’ve been telling the truth.
Instead, Gregory’s acting like he caught me.
“I don’t know why you’re bringing my wife into this,” I say very slowly. Enunciating every word. Buying myself time to think.
“Wife is one way to describe her. I might describe her as a puzzle.” He pours himself another drink. “From the outside, it seems like your marriage to Rita is real. There’s a license. There’s a judge that swears he met with you two in Vegas. There are even receipts showing you stayed in the Bellagio. I met a very nice young maid who claims she remembers you and Rita.”
I work my jaw. That’s much, much more thorough than I guessed anyone would be. And he’s either lying about the maid or I got lucky, because I didn’t think to set that piece of the story in place.
“What your point?” I ask, trying not to commit myself.
“My point is that while it seems real, there are holes. Like, why no social media? Why no friends, no family? I’m sure your pals at that little organization would’ve loved to be present. What’s it called again?”
“Atlas,” I say hoarsely. Nerves roiling my stomach.
“Right, that’s it. The Atlas Organization. Tell me, why not invite them?”
“Whirlwind,” I say. “Things moved fast.”
He nods as if that’s perfectly reasonable. He tosses back the second drink. “Here’s the thing. I think you’re lying. I think your relationship with Rita seems strange. But what I don’t understand is why? What are you getting out of it? What did you offer her? It’s okay, Scar, really. My father might talk a big game about family, blah, blah, blah, but I truly don’t give a fuck why you’re married to your wife. Insofar as it doesn’t hurt the family. But if I find out that you’ve been keeping something important from us-” He gestures with the flat of his hand across his throat.
Sweat dribbles down from under my arms. I watch Gregory carefully, head spinning. How did he figure all this out? Why is he so fixated on my relationship with Rita? Everyone else accepts it as given-everyone but Gregory.
He has the power to shut this down. I remember the way Orin looked at him back in Boston. The respect in his expression.
If Gregory tells his father that there’s something wrong with my marriage to Rita, everything will fall apart.
“My marriage to Rita is perfectly normal,” I finally say, choosing my fate. “Go ahead and ask your father. We’ve been around him for two days now. If there were something wrong-”
“My father is getting old and slow.” Gregory comes toward me, eyes sharp. “You’re still young. If he hires you, brings you into the family, I’ll inherit your tenure. Which means I care very much about who you are and what you want.”
“I only want the job,” I say, forcing myself to stay focused.
Gregory stops by my side and slaps my shoulder. “Wonderful,” he says. “Absolutely wonderful to hear. I look forward to working with you.” He slips past me, out of the room, and down the hall.
I watch him go, ears ringing.
He knows something’s going on.
Gregory’s going to sniff around, and if I’m not careful, he might smell all the rotten truth lurking in the heart of my marriage to Rita.
Fuck. Rita. I turn and hurry away, back to the living room. I’m in a panic, worried Gregory might find her and interrogate her. I don’t think she’s ready for a man like him, not yet anyway. We’ll need more time. More work-
“Rita,” I say, coming into the room in a rush.
She looks over, smiling happily. She’s sitting at the table playing cards with Orin and Molly. “Scar,” she says, giving me a mock-sultry wink. “There are you, husband.”
“Your wife is awful at Rummy 500,” Molly says with a laugh.
“But I am very good at drinking champagne.” Rita raises the glass. “Here’s to that.”
Relief floods me. She’s safe. No Gregory, no questions. I drift over, pushing my anxiety away.
This is happening. We’re making it work, even if Gregory’s suspicious. He doesn’t have any proof-only a lingering curiosity. If I keep my head down, play the part, do my job, everything will be fine.
I’ll divorce Rita, blow it up like an atom bomb. We’ll move on. She’ll be free.
Free to be someone else’s wife. To be the mother to someone else’s children.
The idea’s like a stab in my chest.
“We should get going,” I say gently. “The flight’s in two hours.”
“It’s been so good having you,” Orin says, shaking my hand.
Molly gives me a warm hug. “Come back any time. And I really mean that.”
“Thank you,” I say. “And thank you both. I look forward to a long and successful partnership.”
“Here, here,” Orin says, laughing.
Rita says her goodbyes. I steer her from the room and out of the building. Gregory’s not around, but the car’s idling nearby, waiting to take us home.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, frowning at me as I put an arm across her shoulders protectively. “You seem off.”
“Gregory cornered me not too long ago.”
“Gregory? He’s here?” A hint of panic in her voice.
Not that I can blame her.
I lean down and kiss her cheek in case anyone’s watching. I whisper in her ear, “He’s onto us.”
We pile into the car together and head back to Dallas.