Marina’s apartment was dark when she entered. Her hands trembled as she unbuttoned her coat. She pulled off her heels. They were soaked through from the rain. She left them on the foyer floor and padded, barefoot, to the library bar.
She needed a drink. Not wine; something stronger. She pulled out a bottle of Macallan and poured herself an ounce. She swirled it, sniffed it, and then tossed it back. She closed her eyes, savoring the burn at the back of her throat.
“Celebrating something?”
Marina’s eyes opened. She turned; Grant leaned against the library door, hands in his pockets. Though he looked handsome in a button-down, blazer, jeans, and loafers, she could tell he was tired.
“Jesus.” Marina put down the glass. “You scared me. I didn’t know anyone was here.”
“I just got home. Where were you?”
“Out.”
“I was waiting for you at Chat Noir.” Grant glanced at his watch. “For over an hour. When it started getting awkward, I left.”
“Oh my God, Grant. Why didn’t you text me?”
“I didn’t think you needed a reminder about our anniversary.”
Marina’s hand flew to her forehead. “I’m so sorry. It’s just been crazy at work.”
“I thought you wanted this to be a tradition.”
“I did. I do. I’m sorry, Grant. Can we sit and talk?”
“Of course.” Grant nodded toward the bar. “Have a drink with me, at least? It’s our anniversary, after all.”
She gave him a small smile. “Neat?”
“Always.”
Marina handed Grant a tumbler. They both took a seat on the couch. Side by side but not close enough to touch.
Marina took a small sip. “I was at your father’s.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to ask him about his offshore holdings.”
Grant frowned. He put his tumbler down on the coffee table. “His offshore holdings?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There’s a journalist I know. He’s writing about your father. His holdings at Swiss United Bank. His business ties to Assad. Don’t bother defending him, Grant. He admitted it was all true.”
Grant’s expression transformed from confusion to shock. “He what?” He shook his head. “I can’t believe that.”
“He said you weren’t involved.”
“I’m not.”
“I know. I believe you.”
“How do you know about this story?”
“It was Duncan’s story. A friend picked it up after he died. I wanted your father to hear it from me, before it came out.”
“Duncan Sander?”
“Yes. Did you know that your father was having him followed?”
“I know he didn’t trust Duncan,” Grant said after a pause. “I didn’t, either, to be honest.”
“He asked me if I fucked you as a way to get the inside track on your family.”
Grant looked up. “Jesus Christ. I’m sorry. Dad can be crass when he’s upset. He doesn’t really think that about you. I hope you know that.”
“He didn’t trust me, though. Do you? Did you ever wonder about me?”
Grant slid closer to her. He cupped her cheek in his hand. Gently, he turned her face so that they were looking at each other, eye to eye. “Never,” he said firmly. “Not once.”
She nodded.
“Look, I know the rumors about Dad. About the offshore business. I don’t want to justify anything, but a lot of people do it. You know, for tax reasons. I’m not condoning it, but—”
“Do they do business with tyrannical terrorists, too?”
Grant took a deep breath before he answered. “No matter what Duncan or anyone else may have told you, my father wouldn’t do business with Assad.”
“He told me he did, Grant.”
He looked away. “That’s just not true.”
“That’s not the end of it, either. He had Duncan killed. To cover the story.”
Grant turned back to her, his eyes blazing. “No,” he said, his voice cold. “You’re wrong.” His jaw muscle flexed as he clenched his teeth. It struck Marina how much Grant looked like his father when he was angry.
He stood up and strode over to the window. “Why would you say that?”
“He basically admitted it, Grant.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Marina rose to her feet. They stood, staring at each other, from across the library. “Your father is not the man you think he is,” she said, crossing her arms.
“My father is the best man I’ve ever met. Whatever you think you know is wrong.”
“I understand how hard this is to hear,” Marina said. She reminded herself to stay calm. “Grant, you have to prepare yourself. He’s running for president. The truth will come out. It always does.”
Grant snorted. “Whatever my father has done pales in comparison to the behavior of many great men.”
“Maybe so.”
“He’ll be an excellent leader. Better than Hayden Murphy, for God’s sake. Dad’s brilliant. He’s unbiased. Whatever he’s done, he’s done for the greater good. You need to think about the big picture.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe that the ends always justify the means. Especially if the means involve murdering a friend of mine.”
“He didn’t kill Duncan, Marina!” Grant’s voice rose in frustration.
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
Grant took a deep breath. For a moment, they stared at each other, silent. Marina could hear the distant rumble of traffic on Park Avenue and the steady drumbeat of the rain on the windowpanes. Grant shifted, and the light caught his hair. For the first time, Marina noticed a hint of silver around his ears. These past few weeks had taken a toll on all of them. Grant appeared leaner, too. He hadn’t been sleeping well or going to the gym, and it showed. He looked, Marina thought, more like James than ever.
She felt a sharp pang of guilt. James was Grant’s father. What would she do if it was her father? Richard, of course, would never so much as jaywalk. But Marina was lucky in that way. She’d never given much consideration to the moral character of her parents, except, perhaps, to measure herself against it.
How could she judge Grant? He believed in family. He believed in loyalty. It was those values that would make him a good husband. But they could be his downfall, too. He would follow his father to the ends of the earth. It was up to her whether she would go with them.
“Do you want to go talk to Dad together?” Grant said, his voice softening. “We can clear this up. I know we can.”
“I’m sorry.” She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. He lowered his face, nuzzling the side of hers. He was crying, she realized. “I have to go.”
“Please don’t.”
“I have to. I won’t ever get past what I heard tonight.”
“Do you still love me, Marina?”
Marina pulled back so she could look at Grant. They held each other at arm’s length, their fingers clasped tightly together.
“Yes,” she whispered. Tears dripped from her cheeks, and his. “I do. I always will.”
“Then consider what you’re doing. Think about the life we could have together. None of this has anything to do with us.”
“I wish that were true.” She pulled his hands to her lips and kissed them. Then she turned, and before she lost her nerve, she fled from the apartment. She scooped up her shoes and coat from the foyer floor and let the front door shut behind her. If Grant came after her, she was afraid she might stay. She pressed the elevator button hard and fast and was surprised when it opened right away. She stepped inside, barefoot, holding her shoes to her chest.