“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it, my friend…” Frank said. “The sacrifice you’re making to leave me out of this.”
Nicholas and Frank were at an all-night diner, not too far from Nicholas’s condominium in downtown Austin. It was a local favorite that served gingerbread pancakes and fresh maple syrup and decent coffee. It was, quite easily, Nicholas’s favorite meal. This was mostly because it had been Kate’s favorite meal growing up. The two of them often came here on Saturday mornings for breakfast, or late night on weekdays when Kate had a lot of studying to do—and she was willing to take a break and humor him.
It had been eighteen months since he lost her. Eighteen months since Nicholas was babysitting Kristin at the park, Kate walking from the courthouse to meet them. Kate had been working overtime—the justice she was clerking for writing the majority opinion on a case involving a large energy corporation. She was exhausted and in need of a weekend. They had plans to make homemade pizza that night, to watch an old Disney movie on TV, for Nicholas to put Kristin to bed—so Kate could enjoy a nightcap with her husband.
They had plans.
Then Kate was struck by a car on that walk to meet Nicholas. A car that hit her and disappeared.
She was hit by a car going fifty miles per hour on a quiet, unassuming street a handful of blocks from her home.
And all plans stopped. All plans stopped the moment Nicholas found his daughter there, on the side of the road, no longer alive.
“You don’t need to thank me,” Nicholas said. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What are you talking about?” Frank asked. “The sacrifice you’re making… of course it matters, Nick.”
“No,” Nicholas said. “It doesn’t. It doesn’t matter anymore. Where I am.”
Frank didn’t argue with that, which Nicholas appreciated. There was no arguing. Grieving his daughter was who Nicholas was now—which Frank seemed to understand. Maybe because he would be the same. Or maybe it had more to do with their shared anger toward Nicholas’s son-in-law, who they both blamed for this entire mess. He could hear Kate’s response to this. He could hear her voice responding to everything:That’s easier, Dad, isn’t it? Than blaming each other.
But either way, since Kate died, there were only a handful of people Nicholas could stomach to be around outside his own family.
Frank was one of them. And Frank knew this, which was probably why he’d flown in for the night. He’d flown in just to have this conversation in person, this meal in person. To say his thank-you.
How do you thank someone for taking this kind of hit for you? You can’t. But Frank seemed determined to try.
Nicholas was starting his sentence in forty-eight hours. The official charges stemmed from his son-in-law’s testimony—from the encryption system that Ethan put together for Nicholas—from what that encryption system revealed about the organization’s criminal misdeeds.
But the unofficial charges were these: Nicholas wouldn’t roll. He wouldn’t roll on Frank, the man that he most aided and abetted. Inthose early discussions, the FBI was quick to point out (as if Nicholas needed it to be pointed out) that it was ironic that the person for whom Nicholas most frequently broke the law kept his hands clean because Nicholas was keeping his mouth shut.
Nicholas wasn’t going to turn on Frank—and there wasn’t enough to stick to Frank without Nicholas doing so.
It didn’t stop the FBI, though, from bringing down some of Frank’s other associates, though mostly no one in upper management. Nicholas was able to shield most of upper management by not cooperating himself. The most notable exception was Quinn’s husband, Wesley. That was the sharpest blow to Frank—the loss of his own son-in-law, the loss of his planned successor.
It was the sharpest blow to Frank besides losing Nicholas himself.
“Maybe you don’t think I need to say it again, but I do. I do need to say it. What you are doing, Nic… I’ll never forget it.” Frank paused, met Nicholas’s eyes. “Anything you ever need from me. Any favor. It’s yours.”
That stopped Nicholas cold.Any favor.Those words rang in his ears. Like a bargain he didn’t know he was making.
Nicholas must have been wearing it on his face because Frank tilted his head, taking him in, confused.
“What’s that look?” he asked.
“Why would that need to be said between us?”
“I don’t know. I feel like you deserve to hear it.”
Nicholas didn’t like that answer, but mostly because he knew Frank was trying to make him feel better. There was nothing that made him feel better. Not anymore. It was why he didn’t want Frank’s gratitude, nor Frank’s constant assurances that the organization had nothing to do with Kate’s untimely death.
He also didn’t need it. Nicholas didn’t believe any of the chatter that Kate’s death was a result of Nicholas’s decision to pull back from the organization. He didn’t pay attention to the rumors that the organization went after his daughter to keep Nicholas in line—to pull him all the way back in.
Frank didn’t need to give him assurances that wasn’t true because how did that even make sense? It didn’t, despite Nicholas’s son-in-law believing otherwise. Nicholas knew that his son-in-law was blinded by his grief—by the rage that was heating up inside him, so large and unforgiving—leading him to not see clearly. To circle the blame, put it in a box. An imaginary box.
He knew, in his gut, that Frank wasn’t the guilty party here. Even his wife was certain of that. If they both weren’t, Nicholas would never be sitting there. Frank wouldn’t even be alive. Nicholas also knew something else. It didn’t matter why Kate was gone. He would never be free now anyway.
“After I lost Jenny, you know what everyone said to me? They said it would get better. They said the grief will pass.” Frank paused. “I don’t think I properly thanked you for never saying something that stupid.”
