Page 62 of Enigma
“I know you’re not here to chitchat, so I’ll just jump right in,” Patterson started. “Your father never did anything I could arrest him for, but everything about him set off my cop instincts. Little things, mostly. Inconsistencies in his stories, behavior that didn’t quite match his supposed background.”
“What kind of inconsistencies?” Olive caught herself holding her breath as she waited for his response.
“Well, for starters, he claimed to have grown up in rural Oklahoma, but he didn’t know basic things that anyone from that area would know. Couldn’t tell you what county Tulsa was in, didn’t recognize the names of high schools in towns he claimed to have visited regularly.”
Olive wasn’t surprised by Patterson’s words. After all she’d experienced in her adolescence, how could she be? She’d seen her father manipulate situations left and right.
But the retired police chief’s words only confirmed all her suspicions.
Was anything about her dad authentic and real?
Sometimes Olive even had to wonder if his professed love for her, his daughter, was true or if that was an act also.
And maybe that was the real reason she had so much trouble committing to a relationship.
Patterson took a long sip from his thermos before continuing. “And then there was the money.”
Olive’s heart pounded harder in her ears, wondering where he would go next. “What about the money?”
“Your family lived modestly, nothing flashy. But every now and then, I’d see signs of more cash than a small-time traveling salesman should have. He made frequent visits to the bank, was known as a risk taker at poker night, and was seen whispering to strangers from out of town too many times to count.”
Jason shifted in his seat and leaned forward. “Did you investigate him?”
“Informally. I made some calls and tried to verify his background. The thing was that his documentation was legit—his social security number, driver’s license history, even credit reports going back years. But it was almosttooperfect if that makes sense.”
“Like it had been constructed rather than lived.” Olive understood immediately.
“Exactly. Real people have messy histories—late payments, address changes that don’t make sense, gaps in their employment. Your father’s background was seamless, which in my experience usually means it was professionally created.”
Maybe Olive should have felt surprised, but she didn’t.
The pieces clicked into place in her mind. “You think they were all part of the same operation?”
Patterson wrinkled his forehead as he locked gazes with her. “I think your father was running some kind of organization, and Oasis was just one of many locations where they operated.”
“What kind of organization?” Olive asked. “Do you have any theories?”
Patterson walked to his tool chest, jerked a drawer open, and pulled out an old, stained notebook. When he opened it, Olive saw pages and pages of handwritten notes.
“These are some of the notes I’ve been keeping for the past ten years,” Patterson said. “I’ve been trying to understand what your father’s operation was really about and how much of it still exists.”
“And what conclusion did you reach?” Olive wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear the answer. She held her breath as she waited for his response.
Patterson closed the notebook and looked at her with something that might have been sympathy. “I think your father was very good at getting people to trust him. But I don’t think he always liked what he was doing. Whenever I spoke with him, I thought I saw guilt in his gaze.”
That was something she’d never thought about. She’d assumed her dad loved tricking people out of their money.
But she’d also heard him arguing with people in the middle of the night.
There was still so much that didn’t make sense.
“What did you think he was up to?” she asked.
“Truthfully? Money laundering.”
She nodded slowly. “I guess that makes sense.”
“I think he had a network—of people, of buildings, of financial accounts. I’ve worried that something has been going on in this town for a long time.”
