After a few seconds, she shook her head. "He's just doing too much. You know how your father is."
While I understood, she was hiding the truth in the same way my father was.
Exhaling, I wanted nothing more than to tell her that everything was going to be all right, but I had my doubts. "When are you leaving on your trip?"
Her look of surprise was telling.
And damning.
Yet in her usual way, she attempted to hide the fact my father had lied about their world journey. "A couple of weeks. As you might imagine, I'm nearly frazzled trying to get everything in order."
"Where are you going?"
"Oh, you know your father. He has some surprises in store."
I knew then that this particular meeting had only some to do with our enemies. "I know how much you've wanted to see Paris."
"Yes, the Eiffel Tower has always been a dream." She had a faraway look, her eyes misting over. "We'll make certain to send you wonderful pictures wherever we land."
When she gripped my hand, squeezing harder than normal, the hard tug in my heart was a reminder that I did adore my father. I always had, even though we'd butted heads my entire life. He'd been the rock of the family, working long hours in order to achieve success. His tall tales of being a dishwasher after arriving from Cuba had been the kind of stories to keep a little boy consumed by respect. I'd never thought of my father as a frail man, but on this day, the lump in my throat was painful.
"Everything is going to be all right, Mother," I half whispered, trying to keep my emotions in check.
"I know. They always are. Did you know your father planned four different trips to Paris over the years and every time, the plans had to be cancelled? I think he was more devastated than I was." She blinked several times, looking away to hide her tears.
"Well, the fifth time is a charm."
"Yes. Yes. Well, we shall see what karma has in store," she whispered. "I won't keep you. I have a salon appointment in a few minutes."
I pulled her close, kissing her forehead. "You do realize how much I love and admire both of you. Don't you?" As she shivered in my arms, I almost lost it.
Easing back, she pressed her cold hand against my cheek. "I know, dear. Don't forget to tell your father that. He would love to hear how you feel about him. It's... important."
She walked away, her heels clipping against the marble floor. I watched as she headed for the stairs, her gait much slower than normal. My mother was one of the strongest people I'd ever known, but on this day, all I wanted to do was protect her.
Protect. I couldn't seem to get the concept out of my mind.
I stood just outside the door to my father's office, trying to rein in my need for answers, my usual demanding attitude. Whatever crisis our family was facing needed care and my full attention. Instead of barging in, I knocked.
"Come."
Even my hand was shaking when I twisted the knob, taking several deep breaths before closing the door behind me. It had only been a couple of days since I'd seen my father, but I could tell he'd aged, his complexion even more sallow, his cheeks sunken in. Even his breathing was raspy.
"How are you doing, Dad?" I asked casually.
"Dad? I don't remember the last time you called me Dad instead of Father or Carlos." While he laughed, he almost immediately coughed, forced to double over behind his desk.
"Why don't you really tell me what's going on?" I walked closer, glancing down at the items on his desk.
He noticed my curiosity and shifted his folders, hiding whatever he was working on.
But I'd seen a few words, enough to know my fears were real.
Last Will...
"I have some information for you about Santiago that you might find... helpful." He opened his desk drawer, pulling out a jump drive and tossing it in my direction.
"What's this?"
"Santiago isn't a good man. There are several individuals who've expressed interest in taking him down. You'll find information that may help you do just that. If he's the one behind sabotaging our ships, then you'll know what to do. I leave it in your capable hands, son. Your mother and I are leaving sooner than expected."
"And the reason?"
"Let's just say she's eager," he said, trying to offer his usual robust smile.
I pocketed the drive and leaned over his desk. "How bad is it?"
"Our business? We'll recover. You just need to show the rank and file who's boss. I'm very proud of you and what you've accomplished over these last few years. It's time for you to take the reins. Maybe I waited too long. You've been doing a lion's share of the work anyway."
I simply shook my head, remaining quiet.
His smile faded and he slowly eased down onto his office chair. "Would you be a good son and get your old man a drink? And I don't want to hear any crap about it being only ten in the morning. I get enough of that from your mother."
"Think I'll join you," I said in passing. When I walked toward his bar, I clamped my hand shut before reaching for the glasses. Jesus. I was shaken, a heightened level of fear. This wasn't like me in any regard. The sound of his continued cough kept me on edge.
I moved back toward his desk, sliding the crystal across the surface before sitting in one of the two leather chairs. While I'd always loved the thick, soft leather, I'd learned early on that the chairs were reserved for visitors he deemed worthy of sitting across from him. Until recently, that had never included me.
I watched the way he fingered the glass, rolling the tip of his index finger around the rim aimlessly. I had no idea what to say at this point.