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Tried to ignore the fact that the truth didn’t always matter.
“I’m sorry. What did you ask?” I said.
Of course, I remembered, but I needed to buy a few extra seconds to compose myself.
“Your father, sirts. Tell me about him,” Armen said.
He hadn’t bought my ruse, not that I expected him to.
Knowing there was no putting him off, I answered.
“He runs a trucking company. Started it a year or two before I was born. It was small at first, mostly just him, me, and my mom taking loads across the country. I’ve been in every state in America, including Alaska,” I said, giving him a little smile.
He didn’t look impressed.
I took another sip of water, swallowed, and then continued.
“Over time, it got bigger. We eventually settled down. He had twenty rigs when I started high school. He has one hundred fifty now,” I said.
“Rigs, as you call them, financed with my money,” Armen said.
“Correct, as I learned later,” I said with a shrug when I really wanted to throw my glass at him.
“And how did you discover this?” he asked.
I answered without pause. “When I walked into the garage and saw Elias threatening him with a tire iron,” I said.
“Elias personally?” Armen asked.
“Yes,” I responded.
Armen nodded approvingly. “I always counseled him to take a hands-on approach.”
“He took your lessons to heart,” I said, as I tried not to take myself back to that day, the terror that I had felt then.
The guilt that I felt now.
“So, your father owed a debt. One that he couldn’t pay,” Armen said.
I thinned my lips but then quickly regained control. “That’s not entirely accurate. My father had the principal and was willing to pay it that day,” I said.
“Principal only?” Armen asked.
I nodded.
“But you father knew there was interest,” he said.
I scoffed. “Yes. Sixty percent interest. Criminal, if you ask me. Though, I suppose that should be expected,” I said.
Armen laughed. “So, I assume my son didn’t crush your father’s skull with a tire iron. That still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” he said.
“Trust me. He planned to do just that, but I presented a different alternative,” I said.
“And what alternative was that?” Armen said.
“Trade, of course,” I responded.
Armen lowered his head, his eyes still lasered on mine. “Explain.”
