Chapter 11
“Jesus. This is Joe’s house?”
I swallowed and nodded, standing with Cliff and staring up at the house as the taxi drove away behind us. The mailbox at the end had been discretely hand-painted to read “Winters” but I’d still checked the address three times since we’d pulled into the long driveway. This was definitely the right place.
The place was massive, the biggest one I’d seen in the neighborhood, and that was saying something. Nothing about Joe’s modest vacation home in California had prepared me for this. Driving through the affluent suburb of McLean, Virginia, I’d assumed we’d be in one of the less showy neighborhoods. Then we’d turned onto River Oak Road, where I’d caught small glimpses rooftops glinting in the morning sun behind large trees.
My grandfather’s home was
