Quinn bought a ticket to
Young Love
, a bucket of popcorn, and a Coke. He waited until he was sure the previews had finished before he entered the theater. He slumped into an open seat next to the wall in the second-to-last row and started scouring the room for Sierra and her friends. He spotted them on the other side of the theater, two-thirds of the way down, and he was pleased to see that no boys had joined them.
Quinn pulled the cap down and slouched a little lower, trying to make his shoulder comfortable. The movie was full of banal jokes, cliches, and good-looking teens who couldn't act--at least for the first five minutes, which was exactly how long it took Quinn to doze off into a fitful but oblivious sleep.
"Uncle Quinn. Uncle Quinn."
Somebody shook him, and pain sliced through his shoulder like a knife penetrating to the bone. Quinn shrugged himself awake, groaned, and grabbed his arm.
"I'm sorry," the young voice said. "Are you okay?"
Quinn shook off the grogginess and blinked. Sierra and her two friends were standing in the row just in front of Quinn, looking at him. Other patrons were leaving the theater.
"What are you doing here?" asked Sierra. She looked betrayed, and Quinn couldn't blame her.
He leaned his head back, stretched, and closed his eyes. "Seeing if you need a ride home?"
"I told you we would call," Sierra insisted.
"Yeah," said Quinn. "I know."
On the way back to the condo, Quinn and Sierra listened to the radio, neither speaking. At the Towers, Quinn handed the keys to the valet and walked into the building with Sierra, where the two of them silently rode the elevator to the forty-second floor. Once they entered Quinn's condo unit, he started with the apologies.
"I'm sorry, Sierra. I didn't mean to embarrass you."
"It's okay," she said, but Quinn knew it wasn't. Unlike her mom, Sierra never addressed things head-on. She internalized and brooded until it all came frothing to the surface in some emotional meltdown.
"Sit down," Quinn said, motioning to the kitchen table. "I need to tell you some things."
For the next fifteen minutes, he told Sierra about his encounter with Hofstetter's men from the night before. He left out the accusations about underage sex and the fact that they showed him Sierra's picture, but he told her everything else. As he talked, Sierra took it all in, displaying no emotion.
"I don't want to live with my dad," Sierra said after Quinn finished. She was a smart kid, cutting right to the core issue that Quinn had left unspoken. "If he even is my dad."
Seeing the fear in her eyes, Quinn wondered if he had done the right thing in telling her. He had always promised himself that if he ever had kids, he would always tell them the truth. Maybe it wasn't that easy. It didn't take a genius to know what Sierra was thinking. Her stepdad had tried to abuse her. She would be petrified at the thought of living with a different grown man she didn't even know.
"I'm not going to let that happen," Quinn said. He reached out and put his hand on her forearm. "I've got a plan."
Sierra stared down at the table and tried to hold back the tears welling in her eyes.
"You've got to trust me," Quinn said. "Together, we'll get through this. This time, we'll win the case. It's all going to work out."
Later that night, as Quinn slept on the couch, the loud and insistent ringing of the phone jerked him awake. Pain shot through his right shoulder, and he grimaced, trying to collect his thoughts.
He found the phone. "Hello."
"This is Jimmy from the front desk," said a familiar voice.
Quinn's groggy brain pieced it together. Jimmy, the night security guard.
"I've got somebody here who belongs to you," Jimmy said.
Quinn tensed and glanced around the apartment. His niece's bedroom door was closed. "Sierra?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
Suddenly Quinn was fully awake. "Don't let her go anywhere," he said. "I'll be right down."
Quinn had fallen asleep in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. He put on his sandals and headed toward the door. The note on the kitchen table stopped him midstride.
Dear Uncle Quinn,
Thanks for everything you've done. Don't worry about me cause I'll be fine. I just think I might need to take off for a little while. It will be better for both of us. I'll come back after the trial when all this stuff is over. Pleeeeease, take care of yourself! I love you and miss you!!!
Sierra
Quinn felt a lump in his throat as he headed down to collect Sierra.
What was she thinking?
When he arrived in the lobby, Sierra had a worried look on her face, like a kid waiting in the principal's office for her parents to arrive. Quinn thanked Jimmy and led his niece back to the elevator.
Quinn used the elevator ride to tell Sierra that this was no way to handle their problems. "You can't just run away," he scolded. "Where would you even go?"
When she started to cry, Quinn backed off. He told her that he loved her and that they needed to stick together. She walked down the hallway to the condo without looking at him.
"I just didn't want to cause you any trouble," she said, waiting for Quinn to unlock the door.
Sierra kept things under control until she and Quinn sat down together on the couch. Without warning, she came unraveled. She sobbed uncontrollably and apologized over and over.
Quinn didn't know what else to do, so he just held her with his good arm, let her cry, and tried to reassure her. "We can get through this together," he said. "But not if you try running away every time I turn my head."
She cried for a few minutes, then pulled back and seemed to regain her composure. "You were snoring in that movie theater," she said.
"I was not."
"You were, Uncle Quinn; I swear. More like a snort. Kinda like this . . ." Sierra made a sound through her nose that made them both laugh.
"I don't snore," said Quinn.
"That is so untrue. I could barely hear the movie."
They argued good-naturedly for a few minutes, and then Quinn suggested they talk in the morning. He had a plan and would tell her all about it then. Running away was not part of it.
She forced another smile and promised to be there when he woke up. Just to be sure, after Sierra closed the door to the bedroom, Quinn pulled a few couch cushions, blankets, and pillows over to the front door and made his bed at the threshold.
Life with a thirteen-year-old was turning out to be very interesting.
70
On Friday morning, Quinn's investigator called with a missing piece of the puzzle.
"Who put the list of assets together for Richard Hofstetter's estate?" Billy Long asked.
"Annie did. She was appointed as the executrix."
"That's what I thought," growled Billy. "Did you know the list contains a slight oversight?"
"I'm listening," said Quinn.
"Your sister might not have known about this, but Hofstetter Jr. had a 15 percent limited partnership interest in the Oasis, a ratty casino about a mile south of the strip. He held the interest under the name of a Delaware corporation--Oasis Holdings--and Hofstetter Jr. was the only stockholder. Guess who recently made an offer for the Oasis?"
"You're the investigator."
"Yeah," complained Billy, "but you're the big-shot Vegas lawyer. You should know these things." He paused so that Quinn could appreciate Billy's brilliance. "Some of Daddy Hofstetter's business partners, that's who. The word on the street is that this property is the final piece of an assemblage of land that would allow for the next big Vegas casino, the granddaddy of them all."
Quinn was taking notes. So far, it still didn't add up. Hofstetter Jr.'s interest in the Oasis would pass to either Annie, if she was found innocent, or Sierra, if Annie was disqualified from inheriting her husband's estate by virtue of a guilty verdict. How could Hofstetter Sr. benefit from this?
"So here's what makes it interesting," said Billy, anticipating Quinn's next question. "Some of the other partners in the Oasis are tied in with nearby casino owners on the south side of the city who don't want the competition. Hofstetter Jr.'s shares might be the deciding votes."
Quinn put down his pen. No more diagrams were necessary. Sierra was only thirteen. If her stepfather's limited partnership interest fell to her rather than Annie, voting rights would be determined by Sierra's guardian. And if Claude Tanner gained custody of Sierra, he would also obtain those voting rights.
"You think Daddy Hofstetter found Claude Tanner and cut a deal with him?" Quinn asked.
"Nah," Billy said. "I think Claude Tanner just had a sudden and irresistible urge to spend time with a daughter he hadn't bothered to see in thirteen years."
Quinn had finally found his match in the sarcasm department. "Can we prove any of this?" he asked.
"The limited partnership interest and Delaware Corporation are matters of record. The rest is just street talk. When somebody does an assemblage deal like this, they use a lot of shell corporations and offshore holding companies that hide the ownership."
"I'll pay whatever it takes," Quinn said. "Just get me proof."
"Legally?" Billy asked.
"This is my family, Billy. Whatever it takes."
"I'll do my best, Mr. Newberg. But these guys don't like outsiders poking around in their business."
Quinn's own rotator cuff could have told him that.
"One last question," Quinn said. "Is there a time frame when this vote might occur?"
"It's probably not a short-term thing," Billy responded. "My guess is that Tanner wants to get permanent legal custody and then wait a few months before he exercises his right as custodian of the limited partnership interest."
So he doesn't need custody of Sierra right away,
thought Quinn. When he hung up with Billy, he started making a few adjustments to his plan.
Five minutes later, Melanie barged into his office, her face reflecting the bad news. "You might want to turn on the TV," she said. Quinn kept one on his credenza but rarely used it. "They're saying the DNA for Sierra's father is a match."
Though Quinn had suspected this would be the case, he still felt the blow. "Set up a meeting with Mr. Tanner and his lawyer," Quinn said. "This afternoon, if possible."
Quinn took a seat in a high-backed swivel chair across the table from Claude Tanner and his famous Vegas divorce attorney, Kyle Richardson. Quinn studied Tanner's narrow face for glimpses of Sierra but could find none. Sierra's father quietly regarded Quinn with narrow and wary eyes, letting his attorney do most of the talking. Kyle Richardson had thinning blond hair, a massive ring, and skin cooked medium well by the local tanning booths. When celebrities needed a Vegas divorce attorney, Richardson was generally their first call.
Quinn let Richardson ramble for a few minutes about the results of the DNA tests and his client's stellar chances for obtaining custody of Sierra. "He's not in this for the money or the publicity," Richardson declared. "He just wants what's best for Sierra."
Quinn wanted to throw up.
"If that's what he really wants," Quinn said, his voice even, "he should have stayed away."
The comment drew little reaction from Tanner, just a slight narrowing of the eyes and another layer of animosity added to the hardened stare. He let his lawyer respond for him.
"If your client could have avoided killing someone, Mr. Tanner would have been pleased to stay away."
Quinn swallowed a comeback; arguing would help no one. "I think we should work this out. One thing is certain: a court battle will not help Sierra."
Richardson shrugged. "I'm listening."
"If Annie is acquitted, the court will probably award her permanent custody. After all, she's Sierra's mother and took care of the girl from birth." He waited for a reaction, but Richardson and Tanner both acted noncommittal.
At least they didn't disagree.
"If she's convicted, I think I'll have a fair shot at getting custody myself."
Richardson started to object, but Quinn cut him off with a raised palm. "Let me finish."
Quinn turned to Tanner. Though he couldn't say it this bluntly, he knew the man wasn't interested in temporary custody for the sake of Sierra. Tanner was only interested in legal custody for the sake of voting rights. Quinn's offer would be a calculated bet that Tanner would trade the possibility of temporary custody now in order to increase his chances of getting permanent legal custody, including voting rights, later.
"As things stand right now, if I lose Annie's case, I'll fight you for custody," Quinn said. "Sierra is thirteen. The court will put a lot of weight behind her wishes. She wants to live with me. Plus, courts don't like fathers who take off when their kids are born and pop back into their lives at times of . . ." Quinn hesitated. "Shall we say . . . 'opportunity'? You might get some kind of visitation rights, but I'm prepared to fight for custody."
"Your analysis has so many holes I don't know where to start," Richardson interjected.