The attorney general sat uncomfortably on a couch ashing a cigar into a dish. Amid the ottomans and fancy sofas stood Addington White pouring drinks at a bar and, in a wheelchair across from Kennedy, Charlie’s father, Winston. In a suit and tie.

“Dad!” Charlie said, striding over to his father to hug him. His dad gave his back a weak pat. Winston smelled clean, freshly showered. He was thin but looked much healthier than Charlie would have expected.

“Your dad is a free man,” Kennedy said as White handed him a scotch on the rocks. “We appreciate the information you’ve given us.”

“So the whole time, you really wanted to know what the CIA was up to,” Margaret said. “‘To see what is in front of one’s nose needs a constant struggle.’ You cared about the Mob, but not Sinatra’s relationship to it—only the CIA’s.”

“I wanted to know anything going on with Mr. Sinatra’s less savory friends,” said the attorney general.

“Including Judy Campbell?” Charlie said.

“That I would have preferred to have learned before Director Hoover, but I didn’t,” Kennedy said. “He sat the president down a few weeks ago and told him that the woman who’d been calling on him all over—Palm Beach, Hyannis Port, the White House—had other paramours.”

Winston grunted, and Charlie looked at him. It had actually sounded like a chuckle.

“It’s okay, Winston, you can knock off your charade,” Kennedy said.

Winston couldn’t contain his smile. “You son of a bitch,” Winston said. “How’d you know?”

“Oh, we’d long suspected that you faked the stroke to avoid answering questions,” Kennedy said.

“What the—” Charlie said.

“I was going to tell you, son,” Winston said. “I only got sprung earlier today. When I got home, I called you, but no answer. Then I made some other calls and learned that you found out what these hooligans suspected but couldn’t prove: that the Kennedy administration is more in bed with the Mob than Frank is. And then, speaking of beds, your brother—”

Kennedy held up his hand. “First off, let’s differentiate between the administration and the CIA,” he said. “And let’s not pretend that you didn’t have a hand in connecting the Agency to Giancana yourself. That you and Maheu aren’t thick as thieves.”

Aha! Charlie thought. That must be why Maheu seemed familiar.

“All of this could have been avoided if you’d just cooperated, Winston,” Kennedy said. “But you wouldn’t.”

“Why not just ask us directly for help?” Charlie asked.

“Why not just ask a Republican congressman who’s a pain in the ass on the Oversight Committee with a dad who has his own questionable ties to move to Hollywood and spy on a movie star and a gangster?” said White. “To help a president he doesn’t support? Jeez, that’s a tough one.”