CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“The End” by the Doors
DANTE
I got the call the day after Skye’s story blew up in the media. I had planned to visit my dad for a fun round of blackmail, but everything was put on hold when Bella told me Noah was missing.
“One day,” she shouted over the phone. “I was away for one day to visit a friend, and I came to discover his car is gone, and his pets are with the pet sitter, ready to go to the new forever homes he arranged last month .” Her voice rose on the last two words. “His phone and house keys are on the dining room table. I called the hospital and they said he’d canceled the rest of his treatments. We need to find him.”
We spent the day driving around the city looking for Noah’s distinctive red-and-white 1969 Dodge Charger RT. We visited his favorite bars and restaurants, shops, and parks. We called every contact in his address book and drove all the way along Lake Shore Drive in case he’d decided to freeze himself to death while taking in the view. It was like a farewell tour, and by the time the sun set, we’d resigned ourselves to the fact that Noah was missing because he wanted to be missing, and there was nothing we could do to bring him back.
We returned to the house and Bella ordered some food while I walked around taking stock of what Noah had left behind. Unlike my family home, his memories were still there—his collection of vinyl, the basketball hoop he’d put up to get me outside during my darkest days, pictures of his family and his pets, his favorite fringed leather jacket and worn cowboy boots, the green armchair where he sat every night to listen to his favorite songs, the table where he’d helped me fill in my university applications, a collection of bolo ties, and enough musical paraphernalia to open a museum. “He took his guitar,” I said after I’d finished my walk down memory lane.
Bella looked up from the row of family pictures. “He’s gone to find Caroline.”
“I saw him yesterday.” My hand tightened on the chew toy I’d found in the hallway. “I wish I’d known that was the last time I’d get to talk to him.” I could barely keep it together. I felt untethered. I needed Skye, but she was caught in a whirlwind of interviews and radio and television appearances and I wasn’t about to pull her away from her moment in the sun.
“Fuck.” I threw the toy across the room. “I can’t do this without him.”
“Do what?” Bella turned to me, her eyes wet with tears.
“Life.” I scrubbed my hands over my face. “I’ve lost everyone I ever loved. I can’t lose him, too.”
“You’ve been doing life on your own for a long time,” Bella said. “And you’re not alone. You’ve got me. You’ve got Skye. Noah said you’ve even managed to make friends. You’ve got your future all mapped out. If Noah thought you needed him, he’d still be here.”
“I do need him.” My voice cracked, broke. “I don’t know what to do, Bella. I’ve known what I wanted to do for the last four years, but now I think I might be on the wrong path. I need to talk to him. If he’d just waited…”
“Then he wouldn’t have gone. You were like a son to him, Dante. The thing that distressed him most was the idea of leaving you. He’s been living with this illness for a lot longer than you know, but he hung on until he knew you’d be okay.”
“Don’t say anything else.” I didn’t think I could keep it together if she kept talking.
“He loved you, Dante,” she continued, despite my warning. “You gave him purpose—more than the station ever did—but he had one regret, and he was running out of time to make peace with that part of his life.”
Before I could respond, she left the room and returned with Noah’s Santa Cruz 1934 OM Brazilian guitar. Noah always said it was the greatest musical instrument he had ever had the privilege to play. The guitar had an unrivaled vintage tone that only got better with age. He’d paid over twenty thousand dollars for it and had only played it a handful of times, preferring the guitar that he’d owned since his youth.
“Noah told me many years ago that he’d been keeping this guitar for you, and I would know when it was time to hand it over.” She placed the guitar in my hands. “I think he knew what you were struggling with, and this is his answer.”
Emotion welled up in my chest, closing my throat. The Santa Cruz was everything that made a stringed instrument beautiful. It was pure music, and only a true musician could make it sing.
A few days after Noah left, I went to see my dad.
“The prodigal son returns.” My father looked up from his desk, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of his lips. His office in The Loop was a vast expanse of glass, hardwood, and shining steel. A thunderstorm had rolled in and the gray clouds outside the floor-to-ceiling windows drained both light and life from the cold, hard space.
“This isn’t a social visit.” My feet sank into the plush carpet as I walked toward him, the acrid scent of cleaning products bringing back a host of bad memories. I handed him the envelope containing Skye’s photos of Rossi Waste Management truck drivers paying off the university maintenance workers, as well as her short summary of the story she planned to run if my dad didn’t agree to my terms. I had no qualms about blackmailing him. It was a language he understood. He was a master of dirty business tactics, and he’d taught me everything I knew.
“What’s this?”
“Read it.”
With an exasperated sniff, he opened the envelope. His jaw clenched as he flipped through the documents. Finally, he looked up at me with narrowed eyes. “What’s this all about?”
“You tell me. One truck instead of two. One driver instead of two. Twice the pay for twice the load. And of course, garbage pays more than recycling. How do you think the good citizens of Chicago would feel if they found out all their hard work at protecting the environment, separating their recyclables from their normal trash, was for nothing? That the waste management company that had won contracts worth over eighty million dollars was actually working against them? They are paying a fee for a service that’s not getting done.”
“It’s one guy.” He tossed the papers on his desk. “A rogue operator. He’ll be fired and that will be the end of it.”
“There are multiple drivers doing this; not one guy,” I said. “We have video evidence. Not only that, but we also have a team leader confirming on video that his instructions came from the top.” I waved my hand vaguely around his office. “I can’t imagine it’s going to look good when you make your bid for the airport contract, or when your three-year contracts are up for renewal. I also wonder if the citizens who paid for the services they didn’t receive will ask for a refund.”
He understood the game right away. “What do you want?”
I took a deep breath and steadied myself, trying to keep my own emotions in check. “I want you to withdraw your offer for the building that houses the radio station and I want the station reopened effective immediately. I want your word that you won’t file any reports about the scholarship and if you already have, then you’ll withdraw them. Finally, I’ll be keeping my inheritance money. I’ve hired a new lawyer to manage Grandma’s estate and you will not threaten or blackmail her.”
“That’s it?” He snorted a laugh. “You are not cut out for busi ness if that’s the best you can do with the hand you’ve got. I’m embarrassed to call you my son.”
It was everything I could do to maintain my poker face. This was only my opening gambit. I hadn’t shown him all my cards.
“I’ve wasted too much time chasing after revenge,” I said. “There is nothing you can do that will ever make up for what you did to me or Mom or Sasha. I know you pushed Mom down the stairs because she was planning to leave you and go to the police with evidence of your crimes. I know you used your criminal connections to cover it up. Sasha saw it all, and the burden of that, of seeing you walk free on top of all the abuse she had to endure, was too much for her to bear. She killed herself because of you. But I’m tired of being angry, tired of living a life where all I think about is how to destroy you. I have that power now, but what I really want is for you to be out of my life forever.”
His eyes widened in disbelief, then anger flashed across his face. “You ungrateful little shit,” he spat out. “I gave you everything. You wouldn’t be where you are today without me. You wouldn’t have had a life if I’d let your mother go to the police. Do you even understand that? We would all have gone down. We would have lost the business, the house… everything. You should be thanking me for breaking her fucking neck. It was a mercy compared to what would have happened to her if our family in the old country found out what she was planning to do.”
For a moment, I couldn’t talk. Even though I’d known he’d committed the crime, hearing him admit it, and without a hint of remorse or regret, was more painful than I could ever have imagined.
“You gave me nothing but fear and pain and loss.” I kept my voice calm and even, acutely aware that the police and the FBI were listening and recording the conversation through the wire taped to my chest. This would be our last conversation and I wanted to make sure I said everything I’d always wanted to say. “You showed me how to be a bitter, angry, ruthless, soulless human being. But you’re right about one thing. If I didn’t hate you so much, I would never have enrolled in college. I would never have focused all my energy on getting a degree that would give me the skills to take you down. I would never have met the man who was more of a father to me than you will ever be. I would never have found my true passion. And I would never have found love.”
Skye and I had finished the investigation together, hiding in alleyways, following garbage trucks in Ubers, and taking surreptitious videos from behind mailboxes and lampposts on the street. It had been a blast. She had written up the story and it was ready to go live on her new investigative reporting show at the station—the show Noah had wanted her to host.
I didn’t expect an apology and I didn’t get one. Nor did I see even a flicker of shame, guilt, or regret on his hard face.
“So, what now?” he spat out. “I agree to your demands, and this goes away?”
“Yes.”
“Even after you become a lawyer?”
“I’m not going to become a lawyer,” I said. “I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. Life is short and I don’t want to come to the end and realize that I missed my chance to follow my dreams.”
“You’ll be cut out of my will if you do this,” he said. “The business, the legacy, all the money… it will go to your cousin Silvio.”
I’d met Silvio a few times as a teenager. He was a miniature version of my dad but without the good sense to stay out of jail. “He’s welcome to it. I’m planning to make my name as a bass player and launch my music career.”
“Jesus Christ.” He snorted a laugh. “A bass player? You’ll be back on the streets in less than a year.”
“Not this time,” I said. “I’ve faced my biggest fear, and it didn’t destroy me. I’m going to be okay.”
He tucked the photos and papers back into the envelope. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“Because I’m not you.”
“Fine. I’ll make the calls.”
“Do it now while I’m here.” It had to be now before the FBI and police waiting downstairs came up to ask him some questions. I’d finally decided that this had to end, and I’d gone to see the lawyers I’d worked with at the DA’s office who’d brought in the FBI. I just had to hope that my father couldn’t get to them the way he’d gotten to everyone else. Revenge had given me purpose, but it no longer defined my life.
I felt a weight lift from shoulders as he made the calls. It was finally over. No more dwelling on the past. I could finally look forward to the future—a future in which a police officer with a warrant would know to look for the brown envelope that would help take down my father’s company.
“It’s done.” He slammed the receiver down. “We’re done.”
I took one last look at the face that was an older version of my own before I turned to leave and felt nothing. No longing. No regret. No love. “Goodbye, Dad.”
“Dante.”
I stopped in the doorway, and looked back over my shoulder, raising my eyebrow in query.
“You’re just like your mother,” he snarled.
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”