Page 88 of Play Dirty

“I’m fine,” he says, his smile wide as it ever was. “Just fine. See you tonight.”

With that he walks off.

I shut my office door, sit down at my desk, and pull up my calendar.

Blank.

I push the button on my phone for Eileen. “Yes, Jordan?”

“Why is my calendar empty?”

“Oh, your father said to clear it. Said you needed a day off.”

“What did I have on there? Did I have court?”

“No, no,” Eileen replies. “It was just some paperwork today. I have your paralegal on it. No need to worry.”

I slump back in my chair. “Thanks.”

I think.

Like what is going on with my father?

My phone buzzes in my coat pocket, so I take it out and look at the screen. Augustine.

For a moment I hesitate. Because I don’t really want to talk to them. I don’t think this is working. I mean, I like them. It’s fun and it feels good, but… seriously, where do I think this is going?

And for that matter, where am I going?

I let Augustine go to voicemail and instead press the contact for my real-estate agent, Lawton Ayers.

“Hey,” he says, unceremoniously. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Yeah, why’s that?”

“That house you have? The mansion everyone’s so keen to know more about these days?”

“What about it?”

“I have a buyer.”

“It’s not for sale. Unless it’s Ixion. Is it Ixion?”

“No, it’s a corporation.”

“What corporation?”

“Something called…” There’s a shuffling of papers on the other end of the phone. “Standard License LLC.”

“So a shell corporation?”

“Looks like it.”

“Why is everyone so interested in this house?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. I mean, it’s a cool house, no doubt. But it was on the market for over a month last year before you bought it. So why now? Why didn’t they swoop in when they could get it at foreclosure pricing?”

“I have no clue,” I say absently. Weird.