“Who is Casey’s father? Maybe I could talk to them on your behalf.”

“Henry Van Meter.”

Ken Philips blinked. “The Van Meters of Van Meter Industries?”

Norm nodded. “Does that make a difference?”

Philips laughed. “Of course it does. Henry Van Meter is one of the most powerful men in this state and a totally ruthless bastard. If Henry doesn’t want you to have custody, there will be a no-holds-barred battle and you will be on his shit list forever.”

Norm’s face dropped. He looked pathetic. “So you won’t do it?”

Philips shook his head slowly. “I didn’t say that.”

He leaned back and rested his chin on his hands. Norm waited, shifting nervously in his chair. Finally, Philips sat up. He had an idea but he didn’t want to discuss it with his young client just yet.

“I need to meet with your parents,” Philips said. “I’m not going any further until I’ve talked with them.”

Norm had been afraid of this, but he guessed there was no way to avoid it.

“What about the money? Can you tell me what this will cost?”

“Don’t worry about my fee right now. You’re a minor, and we’re not going to do a thing if your folks won’t support you.”

“I guess you have to talk to them.”

“You guess right. And there’s something else I have to do. Sit tight while I get my camera.”

Anton Brucher clothed his lean, storklike frame in hand-tailored silk suits. His sunken cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes were a testament to the hours he put in on behalf of his clients. Brucher was a hard and humorless advisor with a finely honed intellect and no perceptible morals. He viewed lawyers like Ken Philips, who worked for Communists, Negroes, and the like, with distaste, but he did not underestimate Philips’s intelligence.

Henry Van Meter studied Ken Philips with disdain from the end of the conference room. Van Meter’s jet-black hair was swept back from his high forehead. His violent eyes and craggy nose warned of a rock-hard temperament and a philosophy that had no room in it for mercy. Henry had fumed at the idea of meeting with Philips, and consented only when Brucher warned him that the lawyer had ruined the lives of several powerful men who had chosen to ignore him.

Brucher, Platt and Heinecken occupied the top two floors in an office building in the heart of Portland. They were meeting in a small conference room located on the second of these floors, in the rear, to lessen the risk of Henry being seen with Philips. When Brucher introduced Norman ’s lawyer, Van Meter did not extend his hand.

“What is it you want?” Henry asked without preamble.

“A peaceful solution to a difficult problem.”

“I know of no problem that involves me and your client. I’m only here because Anton insisted that I listen to you.”

Philips smiled. “I’m glad there isn’t any problem between you and Norman Spencer. He’s a fine young man who’s only interested in doing what is right. If we can agree to resolve this matter amicably, Norman and your family will benefit.”

“You’re being obtuse, Mr. Philips. Please come to the point.”

Philips’s head bobbed. “You’re right, Mr. Van Meter. Forgive me. I’ll be blunt. Norman and your daughter, Casey, had a summer romance. Your daughter became pregnant. Now she’s somewhere in Europe, supposedly for a semester abroad, but I’m guessing it has something to do with her pregnancy.

“You’re Catholic, so abortion is probably not on the agenda. I think she’ll carry the baby to term and put it up for adoption. If that’s the case, Norman wants to raise the baby. He wants to adopt. That’s why I’m here, to work things out.”

Van Meter’s features tightened as Philips spoke. He was livid by the time the lawyer finished.

“Your client is lucky that I’m not suing him for slander, which I will if you breathe one word of this scandalous accusation outside this room.”

“Your daughter isn’t pregnant?”

“The private life of Mr. Van Meter’s daughter is none of your business,” Brucher said.

“I beg to differ with you, Anton,” Philips answered calmly. “If she’s carrying my client’s child it is definitely my business. It will become the business of the courts if you and Mr. Van Meter persist in insulting my intelligence and threatening my client.”

Philips turned to Henry Van Meter. “If we sue for custody, your daughter will be fodder for every gossipmonger in the state. Is that what you want?”

“How much?” Brucher asked.

Philips shook his head in disgust. “Now that is insulting. But I’ll let it pass. Norman isn’t after Mr. Van Meter’s money. He is a very moral young man who wants to do what is right.”

“Your client has been misinformed,” Henry said. “My daughter is studying abroad. I’m not convinced that she even knows this person. She never mentioned him to me.”

Philips took several photographs of Norm’s battered face and laid them on the conference table.

“If Casey doesn’t know Norman, and she isn’t pregnant, what was your son’s motive in beating my client to a pulp?”

“Miles did not do this,” Henry said after casting a brief glance at the pictures.

“He’ll have a chance to prove that at his trial,” Philips said.

“Now you’re threatening my son?” Van Meter asked, outraged.

“I’m not threatening anyone. I’m just making certain that you understand that many people will be hurt and embarrassed if you continue to deny the truth. I would think that you’d be happy to have this problem off your hands. You might even have a personal interest in the child’s welfare, Mr. Van Meter. The baby will be your grandchild.”

Philips paused for a moment to let what he’d said sink in.

“Would you step outside for a moment so I can confer with my client?” Brucher asked.

“Sure.”

Ken Philips smoked a cigarette in the hall while Brucher and Van Meter conferred. They called him back twenty minutes later.

“We don’t concede that there is any merit to your claim, Ken,” Brucher said, “but, hypothetically, if Casey is pregnant and agreed to let Mr. Spencer adopt her baby, would Mr. Spencer be willing to refrain from any future contact with the Van Meters and to agree to keep the identity of the child’s mother secret?”

“Let me talk to my client.”

Your father agreed to Henry Van Meter’s terms,” Jerry Philips explained to Ashley. “His parents helped him raise you. Norman worked during the day and went to Portland State at night to get a degree. That’s where he met Terri. They fell in love and Norman told her about you. Getting a ready-made family wasn’t something Terri had bargained for, but she loved Norman and she fell in love with you.”

“How do you know all this stuff about my parents’ private life?” Ashley asked.

“My father had notes of interviews with your father in his files, and Henry told me a lot. My dad’s point about you being his grandchild hit home. Henry was a bastard, but he was a bastard who wanted his line to continue. He assumed that Miles or Casey would have other children somewhere down the line, but you were his first grandchild, and he had an investigator from Brucher’s law firm keep track of you and Norman.”

“He spied on us?”

Jerry shrugged. “I don’t know if he thought of it that way. At some point he realized that neither of his children was going to give him another grandchild anytime soon, maybe ever. Then he became ill. Once he decided that you were the last of his line, he watched you more closely.”

Ashley sat back. Her life had been an illusion orchestrated by her father, Henry Van Meter, and men she’d never met. How could her father and Terri have lied to her all these years?

“Does Miles know about this?”

“Only Henry, Anton Brucher, my father, Norman, his parents, and Terri knew until Henry told me.”