Page 24 of The Picasso Heist
CHAPTER21
WE NEVER MAKEit to Jacinda’s office. As soon as we reach the women’s bathroom on the way to the elevator bank, she turns on a dime, pushes through the door. “In here,” she says.
Like high school or a cop show or whatever scene in a movie that has someone ducking down to make sure no one’s in any of the bathroom stalls, Jacinda checks. There’s no one there. We’re alone, just the two of us.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Jacinda leans up against the sink counter, folding her arms. “You know exactly what’s wrong.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
She cuts me off, palm raised. “The lying stops right now,” she says. “What’s wrong?Let’s start with your last name.”
“What about it?”
“Halston Graham.”
“That’s right,” I say.
“What did I just tell you? No more bullshit. Your last name isn’t Graham. It’s Greer. As in Conrad Greer, your father. Last summer you told me your father was dead. Turns out he’s very much alive.”
“I wouldn’t gothatfar.”
“Okay, he’s very much in jail,” she says. “Is that better?”
“Not for him. Or me.”
“Not for me either. And sure as hell not for Echelon. For Christ’s sake, what were you thinking?”
“Which part?” I ask.
“All of it. Lying about your name, your father being in jail. Most of all, aboutthe reasonhe’s in jail.”
“You asked me what I was thinking?That’swhat I was thinking. Right there, your reaction. Because if you’d known the truth, I wouldn’t be working here.”
“You’re right, you wouldn’t be,” she says. “And you won’t be, now that I know the truth.”
“But you don’t. You only think you do,” I say. “My nameisHalston Graham. It once was Greer but I changed it. Legally. I never lied about that.”
Jacinda’s not impressed. “Oh, congratulations,” she says, dripping sarcasm. “You get to keep your monogrammed towels. In fact, that’s probably why you chose the name Graham.”
“You keep proving my point.”
“Which is what?”
“The reason I had to lie to you is the same reason I had to change my name,” I say. “Who would hire me?”
“Plenty of people would hire you. But you had to go and choose a job in the art world, didn’t you.”
“It’s what I know. It’s what I love.”
“You were raised by a father who was convicted of a multimillion-dollar art scam. What’s not to love, right? And God knows the thingsyou learned along the way,” she says. “Do you have any idea how bad this looks for Echelon?”
“What you really mean is how bad it looks for you.”
“Same difference.”
“This is just your job, Jacinda. You and Echelon couldn’t be any more different,” I say. “You know, most people would think that being homeless for a couple of years as a kid would make for a terrible childhood, and they’d be right. But I’m almost jealous of you. You lost your home but you never lost your family. My father was arrested on my thirteenth birthday. The news stories don’t mention the birthday part, but you can read all about that art scam. I’m guessing, though, that you stopped with my dad and didn’t search for anything about my mother. Because if you had, you’d know that two weeks shy of my sixteenth birthday she committed suicide. One dead mother, whose body I found, and a father serving fourteen years upstate. You want to switch childhoods? You want to ask me more about why I changed my last name?”
