The Price of the Truth

Sophie answered Ruth's phone by saying, "I had five pancakes," which suggested she'd been waiting for an audience.

Vincent sat back in his chair. "How big were they?"

"Little. But you can still count them."

"Five sounds right to me. Do you want to skate at the other rink this afternoon? Nina said she could meet us."

"Did you find it?"

"I did. Your mom knows the place."

"Then you have to come too. I want to show you how I do a stop."

He had a meeting with his attorney in twenty minutes. He had a man from the old family business waiting downstairs to speak to him. There were numbers he should have called by now, before anybody else got to the people who answered them.

"What time are you free?" he asked.

Sophie conferred with somebody on her end. "I can be free after my bath."

When Vincent hung up, Elena was watching him from the other side of the desk.

"I've never seen you schedule around a bath," she said.

"I used to have a man who did that for me."

"Did he tell you when to get out?"

"He'd have asked you to do it."

Her mouth curved. She looked tired enough to put her head down on the desk and sleep for an hour. Vincent got up and fetched her coffee from the windowsill. She drank it without asking him to warm it again.

The man downstairs left a white envelope with the guard. Inside was a photocopy of the transfer Vincent had signed. Rafael had circled the signature in blue ink. Behind it was a recent bank statement from the family company. A line through the total at the bottom was marked with the date of Monday's payroll.

His uncle called before Vincent could put it down.

"I hear you have Danny back at work," Rafael said.

"What are you doing with payroll?"

"I'm reminding you how many people are waiting to find out whether you know what you're doing. If the banks start asking where that money went, they'll ask about you too."

"They should."

Rafael let out a short breath. "You signed for it, Vincent. I told you what it was for, and you put your name on it."

"You told me they were old debts."

"They were. Your father left plenty of them."

Vincent looked across the desk. Elena had set down her coffee. On the edge of the photograph by her elbow he could see the toe of one of her skates from the summer Luis had taught her to sharpen them.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"The envelope Luis kept. And the family list, if you found it. Bring them here and we'll talk about what you can afford to do next."

"You knew about the list when you sent the man to the rink."

"I knew somebody would come looking sooner or later. I gave you six quiet years there."

Vincent thought of the way Sophie had grabbed his sleeve when he was walking past the ice. He'd called it a quiet place because nobody ever came up to tell him what it cost them to be afraid.

"Don't come to the rink," he told Rafael.

"You say that as if you bought it from a stranger."

The line went dead.

When Mara Bell arrived, Vincent gave her the photocopy, the statement and the records from Danny. She worked through the pages at the desk while he stood by the window. He'd called her for the first time years ago about a supplier's contract. He'd liked her because she made him read the parts he wanted her to summarize.

"Did you know where the money was going when you signed?" she asked.

"I knew enough to be glad he didn't put it in writing. If he had, I would've had to decide if I was going to sign anyway."

Mara looked up. "That's what you're prepared to tell an investigator?"

Vincent tried to say yes and found that he needed to sit down first. He pictured the man downstairs sliding the white envelope across the counter and walking out with the assurance of someone who'd done a dozen errands just like it. Vincent had sent people out to do errands that way himself.

"Yes," he said.

Mara closed the folder. "I can arrange the handoff. We'll talk about your testimony before anybody takes a statement. I need you to understand that handing over these records can lead straight back to you."

"I do. Make the call."

She took the folder and went into the hall. Elena looked down at the coffee she'd been holding while Mara spoke.

"Are you asking me to stay?" she asked.

Vincent had been about to. He could picture her at the window on a morning when he had no reason to go anywhere, opening the curtains all the way because he always stopped halfway. He was startled by how ordinary the picture was, and how much it mattered to him.

"I want you to know before you decide," he said. "I'm going to tell them about every transfer I remember. There are more than the ones in that folder. I can't promise what my life is going to look like afterward."

"I know what I can ask of you today." Elena set the cup down. "Call me when it's done. Tell me if you need something. And if you're going to be late to watch Sophie, let her hear it from you."

Vincent nodded.

"I was angry at you for a long time," she said. "Some of it was about the way you ran things after Carlo died. Some of it was because I wanted you to come find me, and I knew I'd made myself hard to find."

"I'll tell you when I don't know how to find you," he said.

She looked at him. Then she got up and came around the desk. Her fingers settled against the back of his neck. She kissed him once, gently, with her coffee still warm on her breath.

A few minutes later he watched Mara carry the folder down the front steps. In it was every page from the envelope, including the sheets he'd signed. The families' directory went to a designated investigator in person, with Elena there to explain which households had already been reached and which had asked for help. Vincent took Carlo's recorder himself. It felt lighter on the walk back to the car than it had in the locker room.

They made it to Sophie's practice three minutes before she came out on the ice. Vincent had just sat down when she waved both arms and almost fell over.

He saw her stop three times. The third time she stayed up.

After practice, Elena took Sophie home with Ruth. Vincent returned to North Pier to meet the investigators who'd asked to see where the case was found. He was waiting for them in the lobby when Marco called from the service hall.

"Rafael's at the west door," Marco said. "He brought the man who hired the intruder. He wants to come in and speak to you alone."

Vincent watched his reflection in the dark glass. His uncle still had the old key.

"I'm coming down," he said. "Leave the door shut."