Teddy, aka Francis Theodore Campano Pointe: tall, too-handsome, slippery. Even as a child, he idolized his father. He wanted to grow up to be just like him. Which was the quickest way to ensure that he never managed to get there.
Teddy very much wanted to be his father’s favored successor. But he didn’t have the brains for it, nor the instincts. So now he spent much of his time trying to prove to his father (and Quinn) that hehad both. And when he failed, he leaned on being cruel. Which, more often than not, got the job done anyway. And put him back in the place he most wanted to be anyway—back in his father’s good graces.
“I feel like it needs to be said…” Nicholas started. “Even if you do manage to pull this off, I still don’t know that she’ll be able to forgive you.”
They were on their midnight beach walk, most of the hotel rooms dark, the oceanfront quiet and moonlit. Owen didn’t need to ask who Nicholas meant. He knew that Nicholas meant Hannah.
“I’m prepared for that,” Owen said.
“There is no preparing for that.”
Owen didn’t argue the point. How could he? He knew that Nicholas could feel it—how Owen’s heartbreak lived inside his skin. That eight thousand miles hadn’t cured him of it. What he had caused. What had been lost.
And still. At the end of the day, as far as Owen was concerned, the only point was this: He loved Hannah and Bailey. With everything he was. And he would do whatever he needed to do to make sure neither of them was punished for that.
“The only thing I care about is that this works,” he said.
“It will work,” Nicholas said.
“We can’t know that yet.”
Nicholas didn’t respond, at first. They had an unspoken rule on these walks to give themselves a break from discussing the work—Nicholas instead filling Owen in on Hannah and Bailey, Owen clinging to every detail, to hold in his hands for later. Bailey starting to write musicals in college, Hannah moving to Los Angeles to be close to her.
But tonight was their last night together. So it was all bleedingtogether. The plan. Hannah, Bailey. All of it one and the same. They didn’t touch on Kate though. They never touched on Kate. The pain of her loss, the unfairness, still too sharp between them.
“A few things do need to fall in line, of course…” Nicholas said. “Most important is you surviving what you’re setting yourself up to do here…”
“And you knowing Frank the way you think you do,” Owen added.
“Not exactly,” Nicholas said. “More like the other way around.”
Twenty Years Ago
“So what is this then?” Frank asked. “Your version of handing in your resignation letter?”
It was the night of Quinn’s engagement party. Nicholas and Frank were at a home in West Palm Beach for a celebration toast that was nicer than most weddings. Quinn was marrying a young lawyer who was from there. Wesley was his name. He was a good kid, smart, and supportive—and tonight was the happiest Nicholas had seen Frank in a long time. Frank couldn’t hide his excitement for this upcoming wedding, for how it felt to see his daughter beaming.
And, on the work front, the threats were neutralized. That’s how Frank liked to put it, and most nights Nicholas didn’t let himself think too much about his part in it. How Nicholas had helped those threats be neutralized. How he had stepped outside the bounds of what he thought he would do in order to provide that help.
You spend so long saying what you won’t do, keeping yourself on the right side of it, the side that you decide defines you—I won’t break the law, I won’t cheat, I won’t lie—that it can never cease to surprise that you crossed over.
“I need to step back, Frank,” Nicholas said. “However you want to put it.”
Frank paused, but only for a moment. Then he nodded.
“I understand that. And if time’s what you want, Nick, you’ve got it,” Frank said. “It’s certainly due, my friend…”
Nicholas didn’t say anything. He was a bit surprised that Frank was agreeing so easily to him stepping away from the organization—stepping away from Frank himself. Even if these last rounds of threats were neutralized (even if Nicholas had helped to neutralize them), there was no denying that the Feds were still circling. Though, of course, when it came to Frank, they always were.
Nicholas knew that his timing didn’t hurt. It certainly didn’t hurt that Quinn was marrying a young lawyer. A public defender—just like Nicholas had started out. Wesley was effective, deliberate, and had already expressed his desire to be involved with the organization—an idea Frank had told Nicholas he supported.
Wesley’s own father had gotten in trouble with the law while he was growing up, had been indicted for insider trading. And, so, apparently Frank’s work didn’t scare Wesley. He was more inclined to want to step in—to be on that side of justice. Certainly, his enthusiasm was helping Frank feel covered—for the moment, at least.
Or, really, maybe it wasn’t any of that. Maybe at this point Frank knew that Nicholas was too invested (that he had given too much of himself, for too long) to completely step away. Isn’t that the worst part of finding yourself too deep in? The reasons don’t count anymore. You can’t just get out.
“I appreciate that, Frank,” Nicholas says. “I’ll of course get Wesley up to speed, help set him up with the team…”
“That’s fine,” Frank said. “We’ll figure it out.”
