They are shown as existing in different branches simultaneously.

  Two major notes are due in approximately six months (June). You now have each of the separate Ogren operations using the others as collateral. Failure on either of the two major notes will trigger a domino-effect collapse of all. Bankruptcy, investigation, and criminal charges would quickly follow.

  There's no potential for a bridge loan or bank bail-out.

  It is my considered opinion that you would be convicted of financial crimes and have to serve time.

  The notes must be paid by June, and the funds you’ve embezzled need to be replaced (i.e. balance the books). We may be able to do this if no new claims on your personal wealth are made. Who else do you owe? Have you told me all?

  This brings me to the most pressing of the threats—your criminal case and Beth. If Beth divorces you under the terms of the prenuptial agreement, we could still pay off the loans and keep your financial crimes hidden.

  If she divorces after a domestic violence conviction—even a misdemeanor—the prenuptial is void and we can’t cover the loans or hide your crimes.

  In layman's terms: if you are convicted of domestic violence and Beth files for divorce, the company will go bankrupt, and you'll end up broke and in jail.

  That's the story. You've ignored virtually all of my advice, but you must listen to me now. I don’t see any way you can avoid an abuse conviction, so you must somehow convince (beg/plead) Beth not to divorce you. If you don’t, you will be ruined.”

  Dan slid back from the desk. Mesh had earlier said this was big trouble, but Dan had still held out hope. Mesh’s message was doom.

  Elbows on the arms of the chair, Dan supported his bent head on his fingers. His chest tightened. Son of a bitch.

  Mesh's recommendations: Avoid conviction—though he says that is hopeless. Convince Beth not to divorce you. How?

  Thanks loads for the worthless advice, Mesh.

  At least Dan and Clara had tried to head off an abuse conviction—and a hell of a try at that. What had Mesh done other than piss and moan?

  So many times before in his life, Dan had been caught going too far but had gotten away with it. He only truly got nailed the one time—and most said he'd got off easy on that one, too.

  It had been his second year at the U. He'd had the world by the tits. Playing hockey, partying, and slamming chicks like a rock star. Hell—getting more prime than a rock star. Then little Miss “Boo-hoo, I said no.” Women did not did not say “no” to Dan.

  The University police had come to the frat house and taken him to their half-ass station off Oak Street on campus. Miss “No” in the hallway with cry-baby tears and her Mommy and Daddy.

  The campus cops had asked him questions. Dan had his role scripted in an instant—he’d acted hurt and surprised. He’d had no idea the girl had felt that way.

  He’d put on a good act. But not good enough.

  He made his one phone call, then they put him in a cell in their cracker-box station. From there he’d watched the comings and goings of what had happened.

  Big Dan arrived with a guy in a three-piece suit. His father had looked lost. Later his head hung—he never even looked at Dan. Didn't try to talk to him.

  Meetings behind closed doors. An hour, then two. Police, her parents, more guys in suits. At five in the morning they unlocked the cell and the police escorted Dan and his father to the side door opening onto the parking lot.

  It was February. Biting cold. The plowed snow from the near-empty lot formed a dirty, icy mountain next to his father's vehicle. A lone light shone from a utility pole. His father walked head down, silent. He arrived at the big Suburban.

  “Hey, no worries, Dad,” Dan had said. “It wasn't a big deal.”

  His father had Dan off his feet and slammed against the vehicle in a blink. The sturdy man’s blocky fingers held Dan off the ground and pinned as if by the blades of a forklift. Dan had looked into his father's face anticipating anger.

  He saw tears.

  First silent, on a face twisted with pain. Then a single sob as he released Dan, letting him slide down the side of the vehicle. His father had stared into Dan's eyes, then buried his face in his hands as his massive shoulders quaked.

  In that last look, Dan had seen what he knew his father had been trying to hide for a long time.

  His father knew what Dan was.

  And he was ashamed.

  ***

  Dan skimmed the final paragraphs of Mesh's email summary a last time and then deleted it. “Broke and in jail,” Mesh had projected.

  Dan would do anything and everything necessary to ensure that didn't happen. He didn't trust that Mesh felt the same do-or-die commitment.

  Dan's cell rung. He scanned the ID. Speak of the devil.

  “Yeah, Mesh.”

  “We need to meet right now. I have bad news. We need to discuss it face-to-face.” Mesh spoke fast and sounded tense.

  “Okay. I just read your email. Don’t panic.”

  “Where can we meet?”

  “I was just going to go visit the old man at the nursing home.”

  “Really?” Surprise sounded in Mesh's voice. “Okay, I'll meet you at Noble Village in your dad's room. I'm leaving now.”

  Dan disconnected. He hoped Mesh was overreacting. What could be so bad they had to meet immediately?

  Chapter 45

  Noble Village

  From the window of his father’s room, Dan spotted Mesh pulling into the parking lot. They called the place a “senior community,” but it was nothing more than a fancy nursing home in Dan's mind—a place to park oldsters until they died. Dan had given Mesh the late-model, luxury car—on the books it was Ogren Automotive but same thing. Hell, Dan paid the little guy well. The attorney climbed out of the car, his breath fogging. He hunched into his coat as he headed towards the entrance, his face a frown.

  When Mesh had called Dan insistent they had to meet “right now,” Noble Village made sense, since he needed to check the layout anyway.

  His father had been here for almost three years. Briefly in an independent apartment but soon transferred to full nursing care as strokes and dementia left him helpless.

  Even though it was only a ten-minute drive from his office at the Bloomington dealership, Dan rarely visited. The place bugged him. Old people, wheelchairs, the smell—how did anyone work here? The few times he did visit, the old man slept most of the time. Like he was now. If not for the noise of his open-mouthed, lolling-tongue breathing, you’d swear the sunken, gray man was a corpse.

  The rare times Dan saw him awake, his father didn't seem to recognize him or, the times he did, he became red-faced or had tears run down his face.

  His father— too feeble to talk, stand, or wipe his own ass but he could still show his disapproval of Dan. Screw him.

  Mesh seemed intent on taking over the judgment role. He'd been bailing Dan out of trouble since before college, but his nagging had grown old. And the smart, usually kick-ass attorney wasn't coming up with any answers this time. His “if you get convicted of abuse and Beth divorces, you'll lose everything and go to jail” was stating the problem, not the solution.

  Dan had the big picture. He needed money and he needed to avoid being convicted on the abuse charge. If convicted, he needed to avoid divorce. His situation in a nutshell—the CliffsNotes version.

  He'd hear what Mesh had to say, but he was working on things himself—with Clara's help.

  They'd tried to head off a conviction on the domestic abuse charge. It had been a hell of a plan and it almost worked. But “almost” didn't count for shit.

  He looked around. His father's private room was very private—rarely anyone around. Dan's leather athletic bag lay on the floor next to the chair. He'd bring it again tomorrow. Damn if Clara had not come up with another plan. She just might be as smart as she constantly told him she was.

  A nurse accompanied Mesh into the room.

  “Here they are,” she said, smiling.

  “Thank you.” Mesh practically bowed. “Have a good day.”

  For a smart guy, Mesh had never learned who it paid to be nice to and who it was best to command. Be nice to those who have power or something you need. Command the rest. Underlings may not like it, but they jump to take care of those who chew their ass if they don't. Nice guys get forgotten.

  Mesh and his old man were both like that. They talked to waitresses, lawn care guys, and other nobodies like they mattered.

  Mesh stood at the foot of Dan’s father’s bed and looked at the slack-jawed old man.

  “Every time I see him he’s smaller,” Mesh whispered. “He looks so frail.”

  “What the hell are you whispering for?” Dan said. “He’s out of it. He wouldn’t know what’s happening if you set him on fire.”

  “Please don’t talk like that.” Mesh shook his head. “Your dad is a special man.”

  “Whatever he might have been,” Dan shrugged, “he ain’t anymore. Lighten up, Mesh. He's way beyond having his feelings hurt.”

  Mesh's eyes flamed and his jaw clenched. For an instant Dan thought the little guy might lose it. Nope—wasn’t gonna happen. Mesh never made a move without thinking it through.

  Loyal, that’s what Mesh was. Like a dog. He thought of Beth and the goofy mutt she worshipped.

  For being so smart, Mesh sometimes couldn’t see the obvious. Dan’s attachment to Mesh went as far as Mesh’s ability to keep him out of trouble or make him money. Beyond that, he was someone Dan tolerated.

  “What did you need to tell me that you couldn’t call or text me with?” Dan asked.

  “It isn’t good.” Mesh sat in the chair facing Dan.

  “You’ve said that—cool the drama. What is it?” Why is he dragging this out?

  “A contact I have in the D.A.’s office shared some news. Beth filed for an order of protection against you. She amended her report to the police. She said she was afraid to tell the truth in the ER. She says you assaulted her.”

  “Damn!” Dan jumped to his feet. “Are you shitting me?” That bitch! That effing bitch!

  “There’s more.”

  “Well, spit it out.”

  “Beth contacted Nancy Dudley. That’s who facilitated the protection order request and change in Beth’s report. She’s one of the best divorce lawyers in the Twin Cities.”

  “Contacted? Has she filed for divorce? Contacted might not mean shit.” Dan knew what it meant but it felt as if Mesh was drawing things out—as if he enjoyed delivering the bad news.

  Mesh raised both hands in a “calm down” fashion. Dan wanted to punch him.

  “It wouldn't make sense for them to file now. They’ll wait for the verdict of the abuse trial. With you convicted, the divorce becomes a slam dunk. The court will award her everything they can.”

  Dan's throat constricted, his stomach clenched. The bitch could ruin him. He rubbed his face with both hands. Shit!

  Mesh stood.

  “You said there was no way Beth would ever say you assaulted her—you were wrong. If you did hurt her that's sick, and I don't want to know. Whether you did or not, her claim changes everything. The case hinged on the ER doctor. That's not true now. If she testifies—and it’s clear she plans to—you'll be convicted. I told you if you avoided conviction and divorce, we might be able to find a way for you to cover the June payments and avoid default. I don’t see that happening now.”

  “You said if I inherited before June it looked good.”

  “Geez, Dan.” Mesh turned toward the sleeping old person. “Have some respect.”

  “Respect?” Dan frowned. “Nothing means anything to him anymore. We're talking about me here. You said if I inherit before the payments are due it looks good.”

  Mesh sighed, then rocked his head back and closed his eyes.

  “Well?” Dan said.

  “I never said it looked good,” Mesh spoke quietly. “I said if you inherit before June you have a few more options. Inheritance and return of ninety percent of the buy-in from this place might help you, but inheritance happens when it happens. It would improve your odds of staying out of jail in the short term, but if Beth divorces after an abuse conviction, your crimes would still be discovered in the end.”

  “News flash, Mesh. It’s our crimes.”

  Mesh's jaw dropped. His color paled.

  How could he be surprised? Had Mesh thought Dan wasn’t serious about not going down alone?

  “Even with this shit you created you’d do that to me? I counseled in the strongest possible terms against your handling of the company funds.” Mesh shook his head. “I advised against those moves. I specifically mentioned criminal charges, conviction, and jail. You ignored me.”

  “Whatever.” Dan leaned forward and stared into Mesh's eyes. “If I go down. You go down.” Dan leaned back, his foot bumping the athletic bag on the floor. ‘Broke and in jail’ would mean the end of the sex, drinking, drugs, and quality lifestyle Dan had built.

  No way would he give it up without a fight. No way he’d give it up, period.

  “Mesh, old buddy.” Dan put a hand on Mesh's shoulder. The man flinched like he'd been touched by a branding iron. “We're in some very deep shit. Use those smarts of yours and get us out, my friend. If you don’t, we are both truly, royally, and forever screwed.”

  Chapter 46

  Townhouse

  The solid mechanism of the deadbolt slid open as Drake unlocked the second of the front door locks. He stepped out of the cold and already dark Minnesota evening. The townhouse was the same Spackle-patched, low-rent dwelling it had been before the kidnapping, but the doors and windows were now security grade. Rachelle had overseen these changes and more. He entered the security code on the wall-mounted alarm panel.

  “I'm home,” he called out. He took off his jacket. The bone-deep exhaustion he felt lifted in the tide of his anticipation.

  Footsteps rumbled up the basement stairs, then Shane and Kristin burst around the corner. Kristin jumped into his arms.

  Shane pulled up short, his gaze fixed. “You don't look right.” His worry was palpable.

  Kristin leaned back and stared at Drake's face.

  Drake crouched and set her down. He reached for Shane and put an arm around him.

  “I'm okay.” Drake smiled. He had checked himself before coming in and knew only mild changes were still visible. “Do I look like a saggy face? A friend said I looked like a Shar-Pei dog.” The kids knew that breed and virtually every other as they regularly “dog-shopped,” impatiently awaiting the day they lived someplace where they could have a pet.

  “Are you all right, Daddy?” Kristin spoke hesitantly. Shane remained silent, his eyes locked.

  “I'm fine, little guys.”

  He looked up from his crouch and found Rachelle standing above him near the bottom of the stairs. She held a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide.

  “Hey there, lovely lady. How about you?” He tugged on the loose skin. “Do you like the look?”

  She said nothing.

  “I was a little sick this morning, kids. I still look a little funny, but everything will go back to normal. I'm fine.” He stood.

  Rachelle launched herself toward him. He wrapped his arms around her as she dove into his arms. She pressed her head against him as they clenched each other fiercely. He felt her body quake and the wetness of her tears on his chest.

  The kids came forward and clung to them. They stood in a family hug for some time. The last time they'd embraced like this had been in the burn unit when they'd finally been safe and together after the nightmare of the kidnapping and shootings.

  Drake loved them so strongly that the thought of losing any of them caused a stab of fear that penetrated to the depths of his being.

  His love for them and the fear of their loss were the two sides of a coin minted in the forge of his heart.

  No matter how exhausted, hurt, or sick he might be, he was sure of one thing.

  He knew what mattered most.

  Chapter 47

  The bedside clock flashed 6:50 a.m.

  Drake had come awake like a switch had been flipped. He felt strong. He'd slept almost eleven hours. Incredible. That was more sleep than he often got in four days.

  Less than twenty-one hours earlier he'd been near death. Now other than soreness of his mouth and deep in his throat, he felt reasonably okay. Once again he acknowledged the good fortune of his physical gifts. Perhaps he shared a little of the resilience the Captain had?

  The parking lot light made the townhouse bedroom window shade glow and cast the room in faint light. He tilted the shade a crack. The neighbor-guy's Corvette was still absent. It hadn't been there yesterday either. Good.

  Daylight was still almost an hour away in the seemingly endless darkness of Minnesota's December nights. Drake had collapsed into bed shortly after returning home. Hadn't even eaten. His passage to sleep had been like he'd hit an elevator’s button for the ground level and been out before it descended two floors.

  Rachelle often tossed and turned in fitful, disturbed sleep. Sometimes she lunged awake sweat-soaked and screaming. Now she breathed deep and even, her soft curves shrouded by the sheet, her hair fanned on the pillow. The scar started below her ear and extended down her neck, broadening and dying out at the point of her left shoulder. The tissue lay thick and cruelly twisted. In the faint light it looked like a darkened flow, as if of molten wax.

  He could make out the new scars of her wrists and hands. Wounds she'd accepted in her effort to protect the children. He caressed the damaged tissue with a feather touch.

  Why has this kind, beautiful person been visited by so much pain and sadness?

  Drake's engagement with formal Catholicism had faded with his time behind bars, the death of his brother Kevin, and what had befallen their mother. The news of the pedophile priests and the institution's criminally inadequate response had sickened him.

  The church as an institution had failed and Drake had fallen away, but his conscience and the teachings of a warm and loving God remained with him. He wanted to believe, but the tragedy and pain that he saw daily in the ER and that had visited those he loved strained his belief. How could a loving God allow such suffering?

 

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