We tried to focus on other things, mostly how to get the restaurant back on track, but when midnight came and I still hadn’t heard a peep, I unraveled.
“I don’t know what to do. Do I call the police?”
“Can you find his parents’ number?” Miki asked. “Maybe Jiro wrote it down somewhere.”
“I don’t think so. But I know where they live. He told me once.”
“Okay, then go there tomorrow. Worst case, you two miss each other in transit.”
“Will you stay here in case he comes back?”
“Of course.”
The next morning, I set out for Jiro’s home. It took longer than expected since I hadn’t been there before, and I didn’t want to pay an arm and a leg for a taxi, so I took public transport.
The neighborhood was quiet and upscale, full of walled estates, trimmed hedges, and wide gaps between homes—privacy money could buy.
Grand houses sat behind rows of sakura trees and stone walls, each one different but all equally intimidating. Some had private security booths, others had fountains in their circular driveways. Every inch of it screamed old money.
I spotted the address on the stone pillar and stopped in front of the entrance. No gate. No security. Just a long narrow driveway curving out of sight.
I hesitated for a moment before heading in.
Gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I made my way up the path. Trees flanked both sides. Leaves rustled in the breeze, and the occasional bird singing caught my ear.
The house came into view—two stories of smooth concrete and glass, sleek lines, minimalist landscaping. Modern and expensive, but not too showy.
I swallowed hard.
I wasn’t a fan of Jiro’s father. He despised me, from what I understood, most likely blamed me for turning Jiro against the family. Which I hadn’t.
At the top of the steps, I stopped in front of the large oak door with its decorative glass insert—thick, beveled, the kind you couldn’t really see through unless you pressed your face against it.
I knocked. Moments later, a blurred outline moved behind it. It didn’t look like Jiro. A woman in a crisp gray uniform answered. Her face was composed but cold.
“May I help you?”
“My name is Akiko Ono. I’m a friend of Jiro Tachibana. May I speak with him?”
The crease between her brows vanished, and a smile appeared. “I’m sorry, but Jiro isn’t here.”
“Oh. Are his parents home?”
“No, the Tachibanas stepped out for a few hours. May I ask what this is concerning?”
“It’s just… Jiro told me he was coming here yesterday to speak with his father.”
She gave me a curious look. “I don’t see how. Jiro always visits on Wednesdays. It’s been that way for a few months.”
I stared at her. “Are you sure?”
“Every week. Like clockwork.”
My stomach turned cold. He’d been coming here, seeing them, while telling me they were estranged. That they hadn’t spoken in a year and visiting now was a last resort.
Lie after lie.
All this time I’d defended him to Miki. Covered for him. Worried about him. Only to find out he’d been here all along, keeping it from me like I was the one who couldn’t be trusted.
