The Mentor (Necessary Lies Book 1) (3 page)

“What’s there?” I asked. “I feel like we still have so much to see here in Vienna.”

“Oh we could be here a month and never see all there is to see in this beautiful country,” Dad said as he sipped his coffee. “But we have such little time, so for this trip, we’re hitting my favorite places. And one day we’ll come back and explore Vienna even more. I promise.”

I smiled. I loved knowing there was more to look forward to in the future.

“Okay,” I said. “Sounds good to me.”

“Salzburg is a beautiful place,” he said. “I have someone there I need to meet with briefly, but you can come with me. It’s one of our new partners at the firm. He happens to be staying in Salzburg this week, so I thought I would multitask.”

“Alright,” I said. “But only a short meet up. I’m pulling the daughter card on you. I get dibs!”

He laughed, “Always, Camilla. You’ll always be first in my heart.”

********

My father wasn’t kidding. Salzburg was the most beautiful city I had ever seen. We took a train there from Vienna, and the Alps had whirled by my window, making my jaw drop at their beauty. I still couldn’t believe I was in a land that looked like the setting of every fairy tale I’d ever read as a kid. And I was with my father. It was like one of my best dreams, the kind I never wanted to wake up from.

Our first day was spent walking around the city. It had been the setting for
The Sound of Music
, my favorite movie as a kid, so I pretended to be one of the Von Trapp kids, marching around town, singing out of tune as my father laughed at my silliness.

There were castles! Stunning cathedrals. And the backdrop of breath-taking mountains. I never wanted to leave. Ever.

On our last day in town before taking the plane back to the US and the dreariness that was Choate, my father had the meeting he’d been talking about.

“It won’t be long,” he said. “And it ties into the little tour I want to take you on.”

“Where to now?” I asked, yawning. I was tired. I also still felt like I hadn’t broken through the fortress that was my father; I hadn’t learned enough about him. He kept us busy, and part of me felt that was purposeful. It didn’t leave me much time to ask questions.

Dad smiled, “Mozart. You’ve heard of him?”

I laughed, “Uh, yeah, Dad. I’ve definitely heard of him.”

He winked, “Just making sure your tuition isn’t a complete waste of money. Well, we’re going to visit his birthplace. He was born here in Salzburg. He’s buried in Vienna, but he spent much of his life here. All the beauty you’ve been surrounded by the last couple days is what inspired him to make the genius that is his music.”

I sighed. Not that I didn’t appreciate the brilliance and virtuosity of Mozart, but it felt like I was on a school field trip. I didn’t want to learn more about Mozart. I wanted to learn more about my dad.

But my father wasn’t someone I felt comfortable whining to. That sort of behavior was beneath him, something I was sure he’d look down upon. And I didn’t want to disappoint him. I suppose I can look back now and realize I was just afraid to displease him; afraid he’d stop visiting me if I wasn’t pleasant to be around at all times.

So to Mozart’s home we went.

“Who are you meeting today?” I asked as we drove across town in a limo provided by the hotel. “Someone from work?”

“Yes,” my father said. “He’s new to the firm. He’s in Salzburg visiting a client, but he’ll be on a new assignment soon and I need to touch base with him.”

“What kind of an assignment would an attorney have?” I said. “Don’t you guys just write briefs all day and bark into your cell phone?” I grinned at him.

He laughed, “Well, we do those things, too. But my firm is global, so we have clients all over the world. So sometimes we have to visit them. And as the founder of the firm, I like to get to know our new attorneys.”

“I see,” I said, already bored. “Sounds great.”

Dad looked at me, sensing I was agitated, “It won’t be long, sweetheart. I promise.”

********

Mozart’s home was also a museum, so while my father stood outside to talk to his new guy, I wandered around the halls of what had once been Mozart’s home, thinking about how cool it was to literally be walking in the footsteps of one of the greatest musicians and famous people in the history of the world.

At one point I glanced out the window to see the man my father was speaking to. I had to admit, the new guy was pretty hot. My friend Landen would have called him “GQ as fuck!” He was tall, dark hair, a rugged face. He was in a black pea coat, dark slacks, his hair slicked back. He was debonair and didn’t look like an attorney. I’d pictured a doughy man with glasses and a brief case when I thought attorney. This man could have been a model. He was also incredibly intense. He was listening to my father speak, his gaze laser focused on whatever he was saying. I would have guessed he was probably about thirty. Maybe younger, maybe older. It was hard for me to guess men’s ages. Besides, I only paid attention to guys my own age.

But this one was hard not to look at. Or imagine certain scenarios with…

I turned away from the window and wandered around some more. I had stopped to look at Mozart’s childhood violin when my father joined me, finally. They’d been speaking for over half an hour.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and kissed my head. “Took a little longer than I thought it would.”

“Is all okay?” I asked.

“Oh yes. All is well,” he said, smiling. But there was something in his eyes that told me different.

“Handsome guy, your new guy,” I said as we walked toward the next exhibit. “Sorry, I had to take a peek.”

My father laughed, “Oh Lord, Camilla. You sounded so grown up just now. Don’t grow up on me too fast.”

We walked around some more but I was growing bored, and my father seemed distracted by something.

“So why bring me here?” I finally asked him. “I know there’s a lesson in everything we do.”

Dad nodded, “Yes. Very true. Well, I’m a big fan of Wolfgang. You know, he was born to a musician. His father, Leopold. From the time Mozart existed, his destiny was laid out before him. Yes, he was a genius, but to be immersed in something is to make it anything but a choice. Mozart was composing at 4 years old. He went on tours by 6 years old. His genius is undeniable, but it’s always made me sad in a way, how he was never given a chance to pursue anything else.” My father’s face grew sad for a moment.

“Dad,” I said. “He’s Mozart. One of the great geniuses of our time. I don’t think he minded. Like you said, if something is your destiny, it’s going to happen either way. There’s no other choice.”

“Maybe so,” Dad replied. “You know, his rival, Salieri, used to say Mozart was in direct contact with God. Because he could compose so quickly and beautifully, like God Himself was dictating the notes to Mozart. He was definitely touched by something. Every time I come here, I think of that. Of destiny, of whether everything is predetermined.”

It was an odd conversation to be having with him. There were layers to it that I couldn’t see. What we were talking about wasn’t really what we were talking about.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Nothing is predetermined. We get to choose. I plan on choosing what I want to do with my life. I haven’t figured it out yet, but I know when I do, it won’t be because of anything but my own volition.”

My father looked at me, surprised. As if he was seeing me for the first time.

“Camilla, that makes me proud to hear you say that,” he said. “Yes. Choose your life. Make it what you want it to be. It’s a lesson I wish I had learned earlier. That I had choices. That I didn’t have to do what was asked of me or expected.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. We were on the edge of a breakthrough. I could feel it.

My father paused for a long moment. I could tell he was mulling over something.

“Another time,” he finally said. “We will talk about that further down the road. Just know I am proud of you, Camilla. And I always will be.”

I was thinking about that trip to Austria as I flew on a private plane for the second time in my life, across the country to Tahoe. Everything Nolan Weston told me had worked out smoothly. I’d packed, been picked up in a black SUV, and been taken to the small private airport in Charlottesville where a Gulfstream jet awaited me.

And now I was trying not to cry thinking about talking to my father about Mozart when I was sixteen years old. And how we’d never gone back to the topic of destiny or how my father had been talked into his own, long before I even existed. And we never would. It broke my heart.

It was just me and the pilot on the plane. It had been almost dark when I boarded and now as we flew it felt like we were chasing the sun, going back into the past. I hadn’t travelled much to the western part of the States. My father had taken me to Disneyland when I was nine and my mother and I had gone to Palm Springs once for a spa weekend. Otherwise, it was a strange land to me. I looked out my window at the darkness, seeing great swaths of black only occasionally dotted by lights down below, the world closing down as I sped across it.

What was I to expect? Would I have to identify my father? Where would the funeral be? Where would he be buried? So many questions, the kind that made me nervous. My father’s firm was large, I assumed there would be a ton of things for me to sign, to consider, to learn. I didn’t want to do any of it.

I just wanted my father back.

********

It was a five-hour flight. By the time we reached South Lake Tahoe, California, I was exhausted in every way a person could be exhausted. I ached in my bones from the stress of what was happening. All I wanted was a bed and about 14 hours of uninterrupted slumber.

The plane taxied in, and before long we were disembarking. The pilot carried my bags down the stairs onto the tarmac. I took one last look at the interior of the plane, not sure what awaited me outside it. But somehow I knew nothing was ever going to be the same.

Outside the jet was yet another black SUV and a driver in a crisp suit, large and imposing. He nodded to me and took the bags from the pilot, placing them in the back of the car. The pilot opened the back passenger side door for me.

“Miss Hunt, I am truly sorry for your loss,” he said. “I hope your stay here in Tahoe is as pleasant as possible under these circumstances.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate that.”

The large Secret Service looking dude climbed into the driver’s side and slowly drove us off the tarmac and toward wherever our final destination would be.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked. “I thought I was supposed to meet Nolan Weston.”

“Mr. Weston is waiting for you at your father’s home,” the driver said. “Which is where I am taking you. Do you need to stop for anything on our way?”

I shook my head, “No. Thank you for asking.”

The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror, “I’m sorry too, Miss Hunt. My name is Michael by the way. I will be your driver while you’re here in Tahoe. Mr. Weston can provide you with my contact information should you need me for anything. A pretty big storm is coming through in the next couple of days so it may be hard to get in and out. They’re expecting a couple feet of snow out where Mr. Hunt’s home is.”

Great
, I thought.
Just what I needed
.

I nodded and quietly stared out the window into the night. It was dark out here in South Lake Tahoe, but I could see the shadows of the Sierra Nevada looming over us as we glided toward my destiny, something that I wanted no part of.

********

I knew my father was wealthy. It was part of my life, his money, and I’d never been in the dark about that. Even though I barely saw him, I’d wanted for nothing. My mother and I had lived in a large house in Virginia before her death, paid for by him. Obviously he’d taken me on the very expensive trip to Austria for my 16
th
birthday. He’d also sent me to expensive camps every summer in places like upstate New York where I sweated in cabins with other rich kid types. I went to Choate Rosemary Hall, one of the most expensive boarding schools in the country. I’d taken equestrian classes and piano lessons. Before Choate I’d had tutors come to my mother’s home to teach me Latin, the Classics, French, and Trigonometry. I was well educated, well bred, and definitely the daughter of a rich man. I was no stranger to large homes, expensive cars, and rich people’s kids. I’d been surrounded by wealth and opulence my entire life.

But my father’s home in Tahoe was something that stunned even me.

It was expansive, for one thing. It sat on top of a mountain, one the driver had to drive slowly up in order for us to even get to the imposing gate that stopped any approaching vehicles before they could even glimpse the house. The property overlooked the tranquil Lake Tahoe and was surrounded by pines, but not hidden by them. It couldn’t be. The home was much too large for such a thing.

As we pulled up the long drive and around the final bend that brought everything into view, I stared, awestruck. This had to be my father’s main home. I’d visited him at his Manhattan apartment, his house in Newport, Rhode Island, which was very grand, and his beach house in West Palm Beach. But Tahoe was something completely different.

He’d never even told me about it. So this would be the first secret revealed.

Michael pulled up next to the entrance, which was an enormous paneled door made out of what was probably wood from a Sequoia. It looked like the perfect sort of door for this impenetrable fortress of a house. This wasn’t a house. It was a compound.

Why had my father needed a place like this?

Michael came around to open my door, but I was already halfway out of the car, my Burberry duffel bag over my shoulder. I took in the entirety of the house, not knowing what to expect. The mountain air had a sharpness to it, and I inhaled deeply, feeling a cold freshness down deep in my lungs.

My father had lived and died here. And now I was here to clean up the mess, while also dealing with my own grief. I inhaled again and then exhaled slowly. This would be the hardest thing I might ever do. But he’d want me to be strong. He believed in me.

“Mr. Weston is inside,” Michael said. “I’ll grab your luggage, Miss Hunt. The door should be unlocked.”

It was weird to walk through a door without knocking, but I guessed this was my house now, legally speaking. So it was silly to knock. But it still felt… odd.

The foyer of the home was as impressive as the exterior. It led to an open living room decorated in rich, rustic colors and décor. Very mountain-esque. The windows to the living room were floor to ceiling, and the ceiling was two levels above my head, affording an impressive view of the lake. Outside, I could see the ground sloped down to a pool (which was covered for the winter) and a hot tub, which was not.

“Jesus, Dad,” I said to myself. “You really outdid yourself.”

I could see the moon’s reflection in the great Lake Tahoe, and a billion stars shown over it, not dimmed a bit by the casinos and hotels on the far side of the lake. I was in my own world on this side. Another planet practically.

I dropped my bag to the floor and walked over to the plush sectional couch of the living room, collapsing on it.

“I see you made it okay,” a deep voice said from behind me. I recognized it immediately. It was Nolan Weston.

I didn’t bother turning around, “You sound disappointed.”

“Of course not,” he said. “I just know it was a sudden trip to be taking after getting the worst kind of news a person can get. So it’s good to see you made it here safely and can now take a moment for yourself.”

I rolled my eyes, “Did you rehearse that?”

He sighed, “No. I meant it. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now.”

I turned around to ask him what he
could
imagine, and I gasped.

This trip was truly full of surprises.

Nolan Weston stood behind me in a cable knit sweater and dark denim jeans. He was tall, with dark slicked back hair, and a rugged face. He looked like something straight out of a Brooks Brothers catalog. He had the slightest graying at his temples but that didn’t matter. I immediately recognized him.

Nolan Weston was not just any of my father’s attorneys. He was the new guy from years ago. The one we’d met in Salzburg. Or the one my father had met in Salzburg and I had spied on.

I wasn’t sure what to say next. All I knew is that things had just gotten a hell of a lot more interesting.