I followed one of the guards to a large room filled with chipped, gray formica-covered tables and orange chairs, all bolted to the floor. I studied my surroundings as I waited for the door to open.
My father still walked like a king, a man certain of his superiority to all of those in his domain. Neither prison, nor the khaki-colored jumpsuit, had diminished his air of authority. His silver hair had thinned on top and had lost the perfect style ensured by weekly five hundred dollar haircuts. His eyes widened upon entering the room. Apparently he hadn’t seen pictures of the new me.
He settled into the chair across from me as the guard backed away.
“You’ve got twenty minutes, Agoston.” My father didn’t bother to reply to the guard’s statement. His focus had shifted entirely to me.
“Charlotte. Jesus, I’ve been worried sick about you.”
I stilled. Parental concern was the last thing I’d expected from him.
“Excuse me?”
“You disappear for a damn year, no word to anyone, and then you reappear out of the blue and throw yourself on the mercy of the FBI. Which, God knows, they have none. What the hell were you thinking? I thought you were smarter than that. I know you’re smarter than that.”
Seriously? He was going to criticize me? I leaned forward, fingers gripping the edge of the table.
“Apparently I wasn’t smart enough to realize that my own father tried to frame me. Who does that to their own kid?”
He blinked in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The notebook. The one that was hidden in my closet. The one with all of the account numbers and deposits. The one that linked me to everything you did. I’m lucky I’m not still sitting in a cell because of you. Why would you do that?”
His jaw dropped.
“I never … It wasn’t … You weren’t…” I’d never heard my father stutter before. I’d never heard him speak except with absolute, unwavering confidence. He cleared his throat, seemed to pull himself together, and leaned forward to whisper, “I was taking care of my family. You were supposed to use that damn brain of yours and get the hell out of the country. I knew your mother would never figure it out, but I knew you could. I left the book in your room so you’d have the means to get your hands on resources to look after yourself and your mother when everything fell apart.”
This time my jaw dropped. My grip on the table tightened almost to the point of pain. Of all of the motives I’d attributed to my father over the last weeks, this one had never crossed my mind.
“Holy shit.” I hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud.
“Indeed. But you blew that plan out of the water. I thought … for over a year, I thought that you were being taken care of. That you’d managed to figure everything out. But then I find out you were scraping by, living hand-to-mouth, and then you go to the FBI?” He shook his head in disgust. “You’re a smart girl, Charlotte. I expected more from you.”
“You expected more from me? I expected more from you!” My temper flared hot and fierce. “You ruined thousands of lives—including mine—and you expected more from me?”
“Keep your voice down.” His tone snapped with impatience.
I shook my head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you.” I had the answers I came for. They weren’t the ones I expected to get, but I had them all the same. “I almost ended up in prison for the rest of my life because of your goddamn contingency plan. So don’t expect me to thank you for doing me any favors.”
“None of that would have happened if you’d just used your brain, found the money, and kept your head down. But you had to try to fix things. You should’ve just left well enough alone. Frankly, I’m disappointed in you. You’re not the daughter I thought I knew.”
I pushed up from the table. Once again, I was done.
“Well, thank God for that. Goodbye, Dad.”
I studied the outline left by the stylized A that used to grace the marble exterior of the Agoston Investments building on Madison Avenue. Eighteen months ago I’d thought that this place would be the center of my world. Standing on the sidewalk after my emotional rollercoaster of a day, I could see how cold and empty that existence would have been. Countless hours spent worshipping at the altar of the almighty dollar. Superficial friendships based on social capital and influence. And probably a loveless marriage born of parental and societal pressure. Now, just the thought made me shudder.
I’d lied to my father earlier about one thing: he hadn’t ruined my life. He’d saved it. His actions had forced me out of my comfort zone and taught me to live.
I deeply regretted the hardships his victims had faced, but his insatiable greed had flung open my cage door. When I’d left New York, I might have been trying to get lost, but I’d found myself instead.
My eyes pricked with sneaky tears at the thought of my life in New Orleans. Part of me wished I could return and have everything be the same as it had been before I left. But then I’d still be living a lie.
How could I go back now? The city I’d fallen in love with would never be the same for me again. Charlotte Agoston wouldn’t be allowed to have the simple life of Charlie Stone.
“Charlotte, sweetheart. Is that really you?”
The familiar voice chased away my warring thoughts. I turned away from the building—away from my past and the future I’d escaped.
Juanita’s dark hair was threaded with more silver than it had been the day I’d left New York, but to me she’d never looked better. She looked happy. Tears tracked down her cheeks as she pulled me into her arms.