Chapter 8 - THE MAN WITHOUT BLACKTHORN HOUSE
Six months later, Blackthorn House was sold.
Several Cross companies were seized.
Others survived under independent management.
Adrian cooperated with prosecutors.
He admitted financial crimes and obstruction committed during his leadership.
His cooperation dismantled a network involving businessmen, officials, charities and organized crime.
He received restrictions, restitution obligations and years of court supervision.
The newspapers called it the fall of Adrian Cross.
I thought they were wrong.
The man I saw afterward seemed more upright than the one who owned half Chicago.
I found him one afternoon inside a neighborhood coffee shop.
No guards.
No tailored three-thousand-dollar suit.
He was drinking terrible coffee.
“You look unemployed.”
He smiled.
“You still insult customers?”
“Only important ones.”
“I'm not important anymore.”
“That must be relaxing.”
“It is.”
I sat.
For months there had been something between us.
Not romance exactly.
Recognition.
Two people who had spent their lives watching danger and calling vigilance a personality.
“Vanessa?” I asked.
“Moved to Seattle.”
“You talk?”
“Once.”
“Do you hate her?”
“No.”
“Love her?”
He thought.
“Some part of me probably always will.”
I appreciated that answer.
Love did not become fake simply because a relationship ended.
“What about you?” he asked.
“What about me?”
“Are you going back to Blackthorn?”
“No.”
I had enrolled in an accounting program.
Apparently noticing details had professional applications beyond preventing murders.
Adrian smiled.
“Your father would like that.”
“My father doesn't get opinions yet.”
“Fair.”
We drank bad coffee.
Nothing exploded.
Nobody followed us.
May you like
It was one of the nicest afternoons of my life.
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