I’d like a detailed bio of Ray Presley, but Caitlin can’t access the kind of information I need on him. “Just start with Marston. Companies he owns, whole or in part. Personal and political connections. His tax returns if you can get them.”

Jenny reappears at our table, her dark eyes watching me with a disconcerting intensity. “Have you decided?”

“I’m not really hungry,” I confess, handing her my unopened menu. “I had to eat before I came. My daughter helped cook.”

“How old is she?”

“Four.”

“That’s a fun age.”

“Are they working on my ribs back there?” Caitlin asks.

“They’ll be out in a minute.” Jenny gives her a curt smile and heads back to her station.

“You owe me an answer too, remember?” says Caitlin. “You’re the most liberal person I’ve met here, as far as race goes. You’re a fascist on the death penalty, of course, but we’ll skip that for now. How did you wind up so different from other people here?”

“It’s simple, really. My father.”

She puts her last shrimp in her mouth and chews slowly, her green eyes luminescent in the soft light. “Let’s hear it.”

“This never sees print. It’s no big deal, but it’s personal. That’s something we need to get straight right now. If we’re going to work together, some things never see print.”

“No problem. It’s in the vault.”

“I remember three defining moments with my father when I was growing up. The first had to do with race. Most kids I grew up around used the word ‘nigger’ the same way they used ‘apple’ or ‘Chevrolet.’ So did their parents and grandparents before them. One night, at home, I used it the same way. My father got out of his chair, turned off the television, and came and sat beside me. He said, ‘Son, I grew up working in a creosote plant right alongside colored people. And they’re just like you and me. No better, no worse. We don’t say that word in this house.’ Then he turned the TV back on. And I stopped saying nigger.

“A couple of years later, the thing to be was a hippie, and I tried my best. Grew my hair down my back, smoked grass, the whole bit. I heard hippies on TV saying the ‘pigs’ this, the ‘pigs’ that. The cops, you know? So, one day, riding in the car, I said something about the pigs. My father pulled onto the shoulder, turned around, and said, ‘Son, if we had to go three days in this country without police, it wouldn’t be a place you’d want to live. We don’t use that word.’ And I never used it again.”

Caitlin’s eyes shine with fascination. “And the third moment?”