†

LUKE

The next morning I wake early. Seven is curled up next to me and somehow seeing her there seems … right. Like it’s where she should have always been. I climb out of bed carefully and then tuck the blanket back around her. She sighs in her sleep and burrows deeper into the warmth. I kiss her forehead and then close the door to the room as I step out into the hall.

While the coffee is brewing, I check my email. I grin when I see that my father’s assistant is apparently an insomniac, too. She read the email I sent sometime last night. Five minutes later, she clicked the link and entered her password.

“Just like riding a bike,” I whisper.

I use the passcode she’s provided to log on to Max’s company server using her first initial and last name. It’s a gamble. I’m assuming she’s using the same password for her company access that she uses at the bank but so many people do that it’s a pretty safe bet. Sure enough, it works and I now have access to her email, calendar, and all her files. She’s pretty organized which makes it easier to know what to bypass. She even has a folder labeled Mr. Marshall.

I sip my coffee as I take a stroll through her system. It doesn’t take long before I come across a Word document labeled Just in Case that has all the passwords for Max’s accounts listed out. I shake my head. This is almost too easy.

That’s when I start reading his email.

Most of it is boring and I can tell his assistant writes most of these messages. There are a lot of emails asking for him to fund certain business ventures or about social events he’s declined to attend. It’s hard to determine what my father actually does for a living but from his correspondence it appears he mainly tells other people what to do.

Then I notice an email marked for deletion. Even though it’s not in the Inbox anymore, it hasn’t been cleared from his Trash yet. The sender is listed as Cabhan Marshall.

It’s an innocuous looking message at first glance, something about the sale of a pair of old golf clubs. But the fact that there are no other messages from this sender in his Inbox at all makes me curious. If the message is so innocent, why delete it?

And the idea of billionaire industrialist Max Marshall buying used anything is just ridiculous.

I start combing through his messages more carefully and notice a few others that seem to be about random things. If it’s some kind of code then I can’t decipher it but maybe the FBI can. My father even has a Facebook account which I log in to just to see if he’s ever used it.

I find Cabhan Marshall in his friends list and copy some of his profile pictures. I’m able to find names corresponding to the senders of a few other weird emails so I grab pictures for them, too.

When I first found out that my father wanted back into my life, of course I started digging around for information. I found out about his ties to the Irish Mafia even before he told us himself. His story about breaking free from the secretive fringe group Le Fírinne' was at times unbelievable and other times heartbreaking.

For the first time since he came back into our lives, my resolve to have nothing to do with him wavered. All things considered, my father appeared to be a man born into bad circumstances who did everything he could to get out.

The day he told us his story, after Gabe was stabbed by one of Max’s nephews who works for the family, Max seemed to understand why I stayed away. He told us himself that leaving us behind was the best thing he could do for us.

He wanted us to have the chance to grow up independent of the criminal element he could never escape.

 Once I realized the authorities were hot on his trail, I tried to warn my brothers to stay away from him, too. Not that it did any good.

But I knew that the only thing protecting me was my determination to stay as far away from Max Marshall as possible. Any contact could make me seem complicit in whatever shady dealings Max still has in the works and even if I had no sense of self-preservation, I wouldn’t want that element anywhere near my mom.

My goal is to grab anything and everything that might have some relevance. I’ll comb through it later and delete anything I think could implicate Max directly but it’s probably going to be hard to keep him out of this completely. Based on what Max told us himself, he played an integral role in Le Fírinne' since his youth.

I transfer everything to my own server and then make a few changes to Max’s calendar. It’s going to take some time to go through everything.  Just thinking about it makes me tired but it’s necessary.

I need all the ammunition I can get if I’m going to negotiate with the FBI. Especially since I don’t know what they have on Seven in the first place.

There’s a chance I can’t bargain my way out of this but I’ll be damned if I don’t try.

†

I arrive at the restaurant in Norfolk for my meeting with Max a few days later deliberately early. I want to be here when my father walks in but I also wanted to get out of the house.

Things have been tense over the last few days. Seven has been distant and nothing I’ve done has coaxed it out of her. The only time things feel right is at night when she comes to my bed.

Our connection there is just as hot as ever.

I give my name at the door as Mr. Holden Williams, which of course matches the reservation I made, and am seated immediately.

After ten minutes, the hostess appears with Max trailing slowly behind her. I’m always surprised by how old and frail he seems. His suit hangs off his frame like he’s lost a bit of weight recently and the wisps of white hair on his head don’t appear to have been combed recently. Or ever.

They stop next to the table and I stand. Max doesn’t look surprised to see me at all.  Neither of us speaks.

“Is there anything else you require, sir?” She looks between us in confusion, probably wondering why we’re not greeting each other.

“No, that’ll be all.” Max dismisses her with an impatient flick of the wrist.

He sits carefully, using his cane to leverage himself down. I wait, unsure whether he needs me to help him. I’m shocked at the instinct to do so. For years, I’ve carried nothing but anger for my father but now that he’s here in front of me, I’m not mad anymore. I’m just tired.

Once he’s seated, he lets out a long sigh. “Getting old is hell.”

“You don’t seem that surprised to see me.”

He smiles at the blunt statement. “I’m old but my mind is still just as sharp as a tack. Holden and I only meet every six months or so and he always calls me first. When Carol told me I was scheduled to meet with him today, I knew something was off. My boys checked it out first.”

He looks over his shoulder and that’s when I notice the big guys sitting a few tables away.

“I figured you must have your reasons for needing to see me. Even if the method was a little unorthodox.”

“I do. I’m afraid this isn’t a social visit. I’m here to warn you. The FBI is circling and they’re trying to use me to get to you.”

His eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry they’re bothering you. They’ve been hovering in the wings for years, just waiting for me to step out of line. I get the feeling they’re disappointed every year that passes when I stay on the straight and narrow. Makes me long for the days when I could occasionally blow some shit up just to keep things interesting.”

Despite everything, I can’t help but laugh at that. I wouldn’t say I see myself in him but the next time I wonder where I inherited my penchant for giving zero fucks, I’ll remember this conversation.