I WALKED DOWN the hall toward the studio office, wondering if I’d run into Gabriel next and how he’d react to seeing me. And how I’d react to seeing him after bolting out of his apartment the night before. But I got to the office, and inside, Dad was leaning against a desk with his arms crossed while two men in sports jackets sorted through files. He saw me, said something to the men, then came out.

“Sorry I couldn’t answer your calls, sweetheart,” he said.

“These guys have been here all morning.”

“What’s going on?” I whispered.

Dad nodded across the hall to the photo studio, where we could speak in private. Inside, we stood in a corner beside a small sink, refrigerator, and espresso machine.

“They showed up with a warrant to go through the files again,” he said while putting a pod in the espresso machine.

“But Chief Jenkins said you weren’t a suspect.”

“Just because they’re looking at files doesn’t mean I’m a suspect in a crime. At this point we don’t even know if there’s been a crime. They’re probably just looking for more information about the missing girls. Want a cup?”

He carried two espressos over to a table and we sat.

“What about that girl on TV this morning?” I asked.

Dad ran his fingers through his hair. “We’re always on the lookout for new talent. Everybody in this business is.”

“But she said you charged much more.”

“It’s costly, sweetheart. The transportation…putting everyone up in the hotel. So we have to charge more for head shots than some local photographer with a studio in his garage. But what they didn’t say on TV this morning is we give them a lot more for their money. It’s not just the head shots. Any hack with a Nikon can charge rock-bottom prices for that. We’re a full-service agency. We can give these girls entrée into the modeling world that no hack can match.”

I understood what he was saying, but there was something else. “But the girl on TV this morning said you never got her any jobs. Have you ever taken money from a girl who you knew had no chance of becoming a model?”

The skin around Dad’s eyes tightened. “Seriously, Shels? It’s not my job to judge who can and can’t be a model. That’s for magazine editors and ad directors to decide. My job is to give girls the best shot I can. I mean, if they want to give modeling a try, who am I to stop them?”

“What about the girls Janet approached in a mall?” I asked.

“What about the ones who never even thought about being models until she gave them her card and told them she thought they could do it?”

Dad placed a hand flat on the table and looked off. “Come on, sweetheart, doesn’t every girl dream of being a model at some point? That’s not an idea Janet put in their heads for the first time.”

I sipped my espresso and stared down at the tabletop, feeling my face grow warm with frustration. Did he really expect me to accept that explanation? Did he think I was that stupid? Or naïve? The more I thought about it, the more upset I felt. I didn’t want to hear his rationales and justifications, just like I didn’t want him to be a man who preyed on young girls. But if that’s what he was, I just wished he’d come out and admit it. The fact that he couldn’t be honest with me hurt. My eyes began to well up with tears. I sniffed, wiped them away, and stared across the photo studio at the autographed photos on the wall, unable to look at him. “Dad, please just tell me the truth.”

He finished his espresso, turned the little cup upside down on the saucer, and sighed. “Okay, Shels, you want the truth? Maybe we did stretch it a little with some of the girls to cover our expenses. But think about who I was doing it for—for us. For our family, our house, our cars, our vacations, clothes, you name it.…You have no idea how much money it takes to live the way we do.”

“Couldn’t you have just told us to cut back?” I asked. “Mom and I would have done it in an instant.”

Dad spun the little cup around in the saucer. The rattling sound echoed through the empty studio. “You mean, admit I was a failure?”

That caught me by surprise. “No! You’re not a failure. You’re a success. You’re amazing. You take beautiful pictures. You run a photo studio and a modeling agency. I mean—” I waved my hand toward the photos of successful models and actors whose careers he’d helped launch. “I mean, look at the people you’ve worked with.”

Dad snorted derisively. “Past performance is no guarantee of future results.”

“You should have told us,” I said, feeling terrible. “I don’t need to live in a big house with a swimming pool. I don’t even need to have a car.”

“And college?” Dad asked.

“I’ll go to the state university.

Dad hung his head. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should have told you. I just…It’s not like we set out to con anyone. It just…happened…gradually. First it was one girl. Then two. Then a few each weekend. The money was coming in, and after a while we just stopped thinking about it.”

“What about Janet and Gabriel?” I asked. “They had to be in on it, too, right?”

Dad shrugged. “Janet probably noticed that I wasn’t turning anyone away, so she got less discriminating about who she picked. She knew that before I could pay her, I had to cover the travel and hotel expenses, and that the more girls she chose, the more chance there was that she’d make money. I mean, we were working weekends, Shels. People expect to make some money.”

He gave me a quizzical glance, as if my reaction was important. Then he added. “I made a mistake. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I truly am.”

It may have been strange to feel relief at a moment like that, but I did. I put my hand on his and squeezed it. “Dad, everyone makes mistakes. I can forgive you for that. I’m just glad you told me the truth.”

His eyes got glittery. “Thank you, sweetheart. You’re the best. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”