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children earn interest only starting at age twenty-one. The principal is theirs to keep when they turn thirty-five.”
    “So your son was a millionaire?” said Jack.
    “Yes. For almost three years.” He lowered his eyes and said, “He would have been thirty-eight next month.”
    “So, you think Lindsey killed him because…”
    “Because they didn’t live like millionaires. Oscar was a lot like me. Money wasn’t that important. He wanted to serve his country. Six months ago, he signed on for another stint at Guantánamo.”
    “Interesting,” said Jack. “Lindsey was married to a millionaire who lived the simple life of a soldier on a military base.”
    “That’s correct. So long as he was alive.”
    “And if he was dead?”
    “She could live anywhere she wanted, with enough money in the bank to live any way she wanted to live.”
    Jack stood silent for a moment, thinking.
    Pintado’s eyes narrowed as he said, “And I guess she can afford to go hire herself a pretty fancy lawyer, too.”
    Jack said, “I’m not in this case for the money.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    Jack heard the crank of an engine. Another private plane slowly emerged from the hangar, its whirling propellers practically invisible.
    Pintado grabbed his flight bag, threw it over his shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got another flight plan to chart out.”
    “One more thing,” said Jack.
    “Enough,” he said, waving him off. “I’ve already told you more than I should.”
    “I was just wondering about your grandson.”
    That got his attention. “What about him?”
    “Since you’re so convinced of Lindsey’s guilt, how do you feel about Brian staying with her?”
    Pintado’s eyes closed, then opened, as if he needed to blink back his anger. “You can’t imagine how that makes me feel.”
    Jack studied the old man’s pained expression, then looked off toward the runway. “You might be surprised,” he said quietly. “Thanks again for your time, sir.”

8
    T hat night, Jack went bowling. He hadn’t bowled in about five hundred years, but anytime he got together with his father, they seemed to end up doing something that made Harry Swyteck shake his head and say, “You don’t get out much, do you, son?” Last time it was golf, and Jack was thankful that this time at least there were gutters to keep his balls from hitting the other players.
    “You owe me thirty-two thousand seven hundred and sixty-eight dollars,” said Harry.
    Double-or-nothing wagers could add up in a hurry. Especially when you sucked. “I’ll race you home for it,” said Jack.
    “You expect me to go double or nothing on a footrace?” Harry said with a chuckle.
    “I promise not to trip you.”
    “Whattaya say we just save your old man the heart attack and call it even?”
    “Oh, all right. But only because it’s your birthday.”
    Harry slapped his arm around his son’s shoulder, and they walked out together to the car. Harry was turning sixty, and it didn’t seem to bother him a bit, so long as he could spend a chunk of time celebrating alone with his son. As Jack drove him home, he couldn’t help thinking what a difference ten years made. Jack hadn’t been part of the fiftieth birthday celebration. It had been a huge party in the governor’s mansion, but back then he and Governor Swyteck had not even been on speaking terms. Some thought it was because Jack was working for theFreedom Institute, defending death row inmates, while his father was signing death warrants faster than any other governor in Florida history. That philosophical disagreement probably hadn’t helped matters, but the rift between them had existed for years. In hindsight, neither one of them fully understood it, but the important thing was that they’d finally gotten past it. Still, it made Jack wonder what this father and son might have been like, how different it would have been for Jack growing up, if his mother, Harry’s young and beautiful first wife,