Page 67 of Keller

“Minimal,” Marcus says.

I hold his gaze, considering doing that myself. I want to put my own eyes on him. I want to see if he was cheating on his wife like my mom was on my dad.

“We don’t know who he is to you,” Marcus adds more quietly. “Or how he might react if he feels cornered.”

He’s thinking physical threat. I’m not.

“I’ll handle it,” I say.

Marcus studies me for a moment. “You want to go to Savannah yourself?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what you’re walking into. While it all lines up on paper, it might not even be your guy.”

I give him a faint smile that doesn’t reach anything deeper. “I’ve walked into worse.”

That part is true. What I don’t say is that this isn’t about danger. Not the kind he’s imagining.

If this man confirms what I’ve believed for seventeen years, I lose whatever fragile version of her I’ve managed to keep intact. I'll have to quit denying that my mother was a cheater and she crushed my father, as hard as he was, twice. The moment he found out and the moment she died.

“I don’t want a third party misreading him,” I say instead. “I need to see him myself.”

Marcus nods once, accepting that tone. “Then at least let me run a deeper background first. Property filings, client history, litigation records. Make sure there aren’t surprises.”

“Do it, then. But I've made up my mind. No matter what you come back with, I'm going to Savannah to see Charlton Grant myself,” I say.

“I'll see what I can find. When?”

"I don't know. But soon."

I check my watch again. Six eighteen.

“I have to go, Marcus.” I tell him before taking a deep breath. "I really appreciate this."

He swivels back toward the monitors. “I’ll call if anything flags.”

I head for the door, the glow of the screens fading behind me. In the hallway, the fluorescent light feels sterile after the blue cast of his office.

Savannah. Preservation architect. Three nights at The Asbury.

It would make sense, I think. She would have met someone like that through the thing she loved most. That thought is a punch in the gut, leaving behind a knot.

By the time I reach the parking garage, I’ve already calculated the flight time. I'll tell Ridge I need the jet to vet someone for the tables. He won't think twice. I can get in and out of there in a day.

First, dinner. Then, the rest of it. I call the restaurant and order two of what Quinn sent me. I don't have time to look at a menu. If she loves it, it will work for me.

My phone buzzes in my hand just as I reach my car. Quinn's name pops up, so I click through to see her text.

Running a few minutes behind. Just got out of the shower. Door's unlocked.

My mind goes to a place it shouldn't be, imagining her just getting out of the shower. I push it away and type back quickly.

No problem. On my way to pick up the food, and then I'll be there.

I turn onto the highway and head toward Elephant Thai. I don't turn on the radio, driving in silence, with the window down.

The restaurant sits behind a laundromat, half-hidden by a flickering fluorescent sign and a row of humming dryers visible through the front windows. The smell of detergent hits first, then basil and fish sauce and something caramelizing in a wok.