Chapter 5 - The Ultimatum at the Diner
Two weeks after the fire, the autumn chill had set in hard, coating the windshields of Columbus in a thin layer of morning frost.
I sat in a corner booth at The Blue Heron Diner, a greasy-spoon joint off Route 33 that hadn't updated its vinyl seating since 1984. Across from me sat Frank.
He looked ten years older. His hair was uncombed, his cheeks hollow, the expensive designer coat replaced by a plain brown windbreaker that looked two sizes too big.
He didn't order coffee. He just stared at the chipped formica table between us.
"The federal prosecutor called my lawyer yesterday," Frank said, his voice flat, devoid of its old booming arrogance. "They’re offering a plea deal. Three years white-collar minimum security, provided I turn over all remaining assets and cooperate with the investigation into the trust accounts."
"That’s actually a generous offer," I noted, stirring sugar into my black coffee. "Given that you stole over six hundred thousand dollars from client escrow."
Frank looked up, his eyes watery and red-rimmed. "Jo-Jo... I raised you. I put food on your table. Is there no mercy in you? I’m your father."
"You stopped being my father the moment Miriam looked me in the eye and said ‘We can’t risk losing our daughter’ while the ceiling was caving in," I said, my voice steady, ice-cold. "You didn't forget I was there, Frank. You made a conscious choice. Just like I’m making a conscious choice now."
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "What do you want?"
"I want everything signed over," I said, sliding a thick document across the table. "The commercial building, the remaining land on Elm Street, the firm’s remaining accounts, and a full public confession published in the Dispatch admitting that you and Miriam embezzled the trust funds left by Grandma."
Frank stared at the paper as if it were a death warrant. "If I sign this, I’m ruined. I’ll have nothing."
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"You never had anything, Frank. You were just renting a life built on other people's money," I replied, standing up on my crutches, letting the medical boot clatter gently against the floor. "You have twenty-four hours to sign. Otherwise, I’ll make sure the prosecutor takes Miriam down with you as an active co-conspirator."
I dropped a five-dollar bill on the table to pay for his coffee and walked out into the crisp morning air, leaving him alone with his ghosts.
