He scrunches his face. “Maybe another time. I’ll have my assistant call you, we’ll set something up. Sometime after Mardi Gras, of course. You know how busy—”

“Enough, Billy,” I say, gripping his shoulder with menace. “No more games. Please. Sit. I insist.”

And he does just that.

CHAPTER 30

Looking insulted yet intrigued, Billy complies. Once we’re seated, I pull my chair a bit closer and lean in. It’s a classic interrogation technique. A way to build trust.

With a possible suspect.

“How do you and your family find the energy?” I ask. “Seems like every time I look, one of you is opening another eatery.”

“My one and only sister, Emily, maybe,” he says. “Our cousin David for sure. My main focus is Petite Amie and taking flying lessons when I can. Those two are the ones who keep pushing to expand the family empire.”

“And not just brick-and-mortar restaurants,” I say. “The food blogs have been saying your family’s been getting into the vertical integration game lately. Investing in an organic beet farm in Paulina. A cruelty-free chicken hatchery in Hammond. A seafood processing plant in Pines Village. Do I have that right?”

I watch his reaction closely. But he doesn’t betray a thing.

He says, “Sure. The more you can control your supply chain, the more you can control quality. And your bottom line. At least that’s how they see it.”

“It sounds like you disagree.”

“Me?” he says. “Look around. I’m a foodie at heart. Not a corporate raider. So if that’s what you wanted to talk about, Caleb, sorry. Looks like you picked the wrong Needham.”

“So just to be clear,” I say, “that farm, that hatchery, that seafood plant—you’re telling me you don’t have a financial stake in any of them?”

He says, “I don’t think so. But I wish I could say for sure.”

I give him a quizzical look. What kind of successful business owner doesn’t know what’s in his own portfolio?

“What I’m telling you,” he says, talking like an elementary school teacher explaining an atom to a dull student, “it is possible I own some tiny piece of them. The Needham family’s finances are complicated. Eighty-five years in the food business in this city. Four generations. Dozens of children, cousins, spouses, ex-spouses—who haven’t always seen eye to eye. I’ve lost count of all the lawsuits and arbitrations and settlements we’ve been through. Our money’s tied up in more joint trusts and ‘portable fiduciary instruments’ than there are crawfish in the Gulf.”

I see what he’s getting at. “I bet that makes for some awkward conversations at Thanksgiving.”

“I wish,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s gotten so bad, a lot of us can’t even be in the same room together. Forget sitting down at the same table at the holidays.”