“No?”
He stood.
“I know the founder.”
“I know Martin Caldwell.”
“He would have told me.”
That was one of Dad’s favorite sentences.
I know someone.
He built half his identity around names.
Executives.
Bankers.
Real estate developers.
Club members.
Aviation people.
People he had met once at fundraisers and spoke about as though they called him for advice.
Martin Caldwell was one of them.
Dad had spent years telling everyone he and Martin were “close.”
They were not.
Martin once sat beside him at a charity dinner.
That was the foundation of the relationship.
Dad continued.
“I had drinks with Martin last year.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
His face changed.
“How?”
“He mentioned you.”
Dad straightened.
“What did he say?”
I paused.
Then.
“He asked whether you were still trying to get invited into the private hangar club.”
Trevor coughed into his napkin.
Vanessa looked away.
Dad’s face went red.
Mom said sharply.
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“That was unnecessary.”
I looked at her.
“So was calling me pathetic.”
Silence.
Good.
I put on my coat.
Mom said.
“Where are you going?”
“To the airport.”
“On Thanksgiving?”
“Yes.”
“You just got here.”
“I have work.”
Dad scoffed automatically.
Then seemed to remember what my work apparently involved now.
His expression changed again.
“Wait.”
I stopped.
He said.
“How much are you paying for Northeastern?”
I smiled.
There it was.
Money.
“Enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you need.”
Vanessa stood.
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
I looked at her.
“Tell you what?”
“That you were rich.”
I almost laughed.
That word.
Rich.
Not successful.
Not building something.
Rich.
I said.
“You never asked what I did.”
Vanessa looked offended.
“Of course we asked.”
“No.”
“You asked whether I was still renting.”
“You asked why I didn’t own a car.”
“You asked whether I was dating.”
“You asked how much my apartment cost.”
“You never asked what my company did.”
Mom crossed her arms.
“We knew you worked in logistics.”
“Yes.”
“That sounds like shipping.”
“It includes shipping.”
Dad frowned.
“You said you ran operations.”
“I do.”
“You never said you owned the company.”
“I never said I didn’t.”
He stared at me.
That answer irritated him.
Good.
I walked toward the foyer.
Mom followed.
“Rachel.”
I turned.
“What?”
Her face looked confused now.
