Kim liked to think he could profile as well as Tracy or Tom or Greg. He had to be good at reading people in his line of work. He knew a big shot when he saw one, and he saw plenty going back and forth between the airport and all the fancy resorts in Waikiki. Everything from movie stars to murderers—they'd all ridden in Kim's Kab.

But there was something different about this haole. Tall, balding, deep voice. He had a briefcase along with a larger suitcase, and was wearing a suit and tie. Somehow though, Kim could tell he wasn't here for business. But wasn't here for pleasure, either. Said he came to see his son—that a friend of his son had called him and this friend seemed worried.

The haole in the suit seemed worried, too.

"Who your son?" Kim asked, trying to lighten the mood, and also gather a little information. "Maybe I know him."

"I doubt that," the haole answered. "He doesn't live here. He's not a local."

"Plenty people live here still not local. Maybe I know him anyway." Still, Kim respected that the man was here for family, even if he was big business. "Whatchu do for work?"

"I'm a stockbroker."

"No kidding?"

"Why would I kid about something like that?" the haole asked.

"Because maybe you big kine developer who don't wanna admit it."

"Hardly."

"Okay. So if Kim wanna diversify, whatchu recommend?"

"That Kim contact me during office hours: 8:00 AM to 5:00 PM, Monday through Friday. In New York City."

"Good."

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind." Kim deflated. Determined not to let on, he pointed out, "Hey, you never tell me who your son is. Who you are."

"It's no secret," the haole insisted. "I just don't see what bearing it has on our ride here."

"No bearing." Except on Kim's tip. He stifled a groan. "Just making small talk. I'm Kim, just like the cab say. Kim Quisano."

"I could've guessed. Although, to be fair I wasn't certain there really was a Kim."

"Of course there a Kim! Only one, though. One Kim, one cab."

"Still, you seem like a very enterprising young man, Kim." The haole paused. Seemed to loosen up a little. "Sanford Winfield, pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Sandy's father?"

"You really do know my son?" Sanford seemed surprised.

Kim was too. He hoped it wasn't obvious. "Sure. Nice guy."

"Then he isn't in trouble?"

"If he is, Kim don't know, and don't wanna know."

Kim, however, did know that his big mouth had gotten him (and all of Hawaiian Eye) into messes before. The less he said about things, the better. To Sanford Winfield, at least.

Being summoned to the Hawaiian Eye office wasn't exactly unfamiliar to Phil. He'd become friends with the guys and even chipped in on a handful of cases for them, too. It was only fair he answered the call, as it were. Tracy Steele had come to see him on his turf, after all.

But that conversation hadn't brought anyone any answers or closure. If anything, it left Phil with even more questions, and on a variety of subjects.

People.

When Phil stepped into the office, he realized he wasn't the only one invited to this shindig. As expected, Tom, Greg, and Tracy were all present and accounted for. Tracy was at what Phil assumed was his own desk. It wasn't surprising. He probably had quite the backlog, being away for so long.

It was funny, Phil thought, the way time passed. He showed up in Hawaii just after Tracy Steele had left. How could it feel like he'd just arrived and was still trying to find his place, yet, as if Tracy had been gone so much longer?

He hardly knew the man. But he knew of him from practically the moment he arrived. A highly revered specter, and someone Phil couldn't help but feel he was being compared to. Unfavorably.

Maybe it was all in his head. Besides, now there really was someone around that everybody had cause to stack Phil up against, least of all himself.

"Hey, Phil." Tom clapped him on the shoulder with what looked to be a folded newspaper.

Phil couldn't make much of the print out but he did glean the word 'Miami'. Herald? Tribune? Did it have something to do with the case?

His case.

Or was it Sandy's?

Or was it both of theirs?

Phil didn't see how it couldn't be.

Naturally, Sandy was here too, and Ken and Dave were with him. Maybe there really had been a break.

Greg cleared his throat, and asked, "Well, now that everyone is here, what say we get down to brass tacks?"

Better than sharpened stakes or pitchforks, Phil supposed. "I'm as ready as anyone." He hoped he meant it.

Taking that as some sort of cue, Tracy stepped out from behind his desk and approached. He wasn't exactly making a beeline for Phil, still, his destination seemed very focused. "I spoke to your parents."

Phil could only guess what was behind his grin. Tight, but amused, all the expression really told him was that he wouldn't fare well playing poker with the man. He asked, "And what did you talk about?"

"The weather."

Phil couldn't be certain but he took that as exoneration. He hoped he wasn't misunderstanding, that it wasn't too hopeful, premature. "And?" he asked.

"Well, you know what they say. One step forward..."

"All things considered, maybe that's not the worst outcome," Dave said, "having to take a couple steps back."

Ken, clearly in agreement with Dave, nodded. "But before we do that, I think I'd better apologize for snooping on you. Unproductive as it was."

"No harm," Phil insisted. "I was expecting as much."

"In any case, if you're hiding something, you're doing a real good job of it." Ken jerked his head in Sandy's direction. "Unlike some people we know."

"I resent that," Sandy deadpanned.

"If I'm hiding something, I'm hiding it from myself, too."

"That's entirely possible."

"More than possible. I'd say it's highly probable."

Sandy looked to his partners, his friends, and sounding a little lost, asked, "So what do we do now?"

Before Dave or Ken (or anyone else) could reply, the doors swung open and Kim stepped inside with Moke right on his tail.

"Sorry," Moke began, sweeping his eyes across the room. He was probably trying to decide who all to apologize to for the intrusion. Or where to start, at least. "He says it's urgent."

"It's alright," Tom said, turning next to Kim. "Where's the fire, huh?"

"No fire. Just big news." Looking self-satisfied, Kim stood as tall as he could and threw his shoulders back. "You never gonna guess who Kim just drop off at the hotel."

"Elvis?"

"Sanford Winfield I."

Sandy looked like you could knock him over with a feather. "My father?" He regained his composure quickly enough and cast Tom, Tracy, and Greg a glance. Solemn, resigned, even, but not angry. "I guess I can't fault you all for calling my dad."

"You sure can't." Dave tugged at his collar; sheepish, guilty. "Because I'm the one that called him."

Sandy suddenly looked annoyed. No, betrayed. "What'd you tell him? That baby bird fell out of the nest, but a blank check oughta do the trick?"

The exchange made Phil wonder about Sandy's relationship with his family. He was also especially curious what Dave had said to Mr. Winfield. Whatever it was, it made him drop everything and fly all the way across the country.

"I didn't give him much detail-" Dave tried to explain.

Sandy cut him off, but he no longer looked so stunned. "Then I think it's time we did." He looked to Phil for approval, commitment. "If you're up for it."

Whereabouts confirmed, Sandy headed for his father's room. With Phil at his side, naturally. Jointly, they refused everyone's well-intended offers to accompany them. This was something they, and just they, needed to do.

To see.

Sanford Winfield was a lot of things, however, actor wasn't one of them. If he'd been hiding something of this magnitude from Sandy all these years, it would become apparent soon enough.

Phil led the way, a half-step ahead of Sandy, for sheer knowledge of the hotel. Of course he knew where every suite, bungalow, and cottage was. It wasn't until he stopped before tower suite #2 that he backed off. He gestured to the closed door before both himself and Sandy. "This is it."

Sandy nodded. He knocked. He didn't allow his father much time to respond before bellowing, "Dad? Are you in there?"

A familiar voice responded, "Just a minute," then the door opened.

Wide, and it stayed that way.

That was one hurdle cleared, not that Sandy was anticipating having the door slammed in his face. At this point, he didn't figure having expectations of any sort was a good idea. Still, he couldn't resist studying his father's features. It was half for familiarity, half for a tell.

Sandy, noting his father's stiff, almost frozen stance, did his best to coolly declare, "Don't worry, Dad, you aren't seeing double. Unless you're seeing four of us, that is. Mind if we come in?"

"What on earth...?" was his father's reply. It was devoid of both breath and any foreknowledge, and it was no small relief.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes." Sandy turned his attention to Phil. "After you."

Phil obliged and stepped inside the room. Sandy followed, and he could feel the heat of his father's eyes on both of them as he didn't close the door.

Once across the threshold, Sandy closed it himself. He advanced deeper into the room and took a quick glance around. Lush, top-shelf accommodations, per usual. Oceanfront, with windows stretching the length of the suite's living room. It was excess in every sense of the word, especially considering Dad was here alone.

Not that his own bungalow, or Dave and Ken's, or Cha Cha and Daffy's was chopped liver. But Daffy had booked their rooms with proximity in mind, not luxury. Close, comfortable. The sort of place they could all easily gather each morning before ticking things off of Daffy's well-curated itinerary. Where they'd all return to at the end of a day together.

Sandy felt a pang of guilt. Or was it longing?

"Sandy, what is the meaning of this?" his father asked, bringing his mind back to the task at hand. His tone was even, no-nonsense, but teetering on the edge of... something.

Something Sandy didn't hear often. He knew as well as anyone that Sanford Winfield didn't like being duped or put on the defensive.

"We were hoping you could answer that."

"I'd say you were more than hoping," Dad muttered. "First things first, show some manners and introduce me to your... friend here."

Phil took the initiative and offered his hand. "Philip Barton, Mr. Winfield."

"I'm afraid you have me at a loss, Mr. Barton."

"Just Phil, please."

"Okay then. I'm afraid you have me at a loss, Phil."

Sandy looked to Phil once again. "You know what? He's right."

"What?"

Sandy explained, "I don't think Dad'd be able to manufacture that kind of surprise. I'm glad for that, really, but-"

"But?" Dad echoed.

What could Sandy say? They knew each other well. However, as blatantly obvious as that was, "You clearly don't know a thing about Phil, but there must be some things you've kept from me?" Sandy was equal parts hopeful and nervous.

Dad gestured to the sofa. "Have a seat. Both of you."

Sandy and Phil both obliged.

Once they were seated, Dad continued, "I don't know how much you know-"

"Ditto, Dad."

If there was any chance Sandy and Phil could be more than just two unrelated guys who were all but identical to one another, he needed to know. And the next step in figuring it out was hearing everything Dad knew.

"Sandy, you're my son and you always will be."

"But are you my father?"

"I suppose that depends on your definition of father. Before I opened that door a few minutes ago, I'd have said unquestionably." Dad shook his head. "No, that's not true. But if what you're really asking is if anyone else can call you their son, or themselves your father, then yes."

Sandy felt cold and wobbly for the slush running through his veins. The evidence, circumstantial as it were, pointed squarely at this outcome. Yet, hearing it confirmed was chilling, numbing.

He was adopted.

Someone dumped him, and very likely Phil, too, but also-

"You chose me, though, right?" he asked. He felt a sort of out-of-body awareness; even he realized how lost he sounded.

"Of course I did."

"Why me, though?"

"I ask myself that a lot." Dad's grin was almost imperceptible. Amused, but bittersweet.

"Not funny. What I mean is why just me?"

"If you really trust me like you said you did, you should know I can't answer that. I didn't know it wasn't just you."

Sandy had to concede that they didn't know that for certain, even now. The voice in his head trying fervently to convince him it was all just a coincidence was growing ever fainter. He didn't want it to be a coincidence now that he'd met Phil. Yet, part of him still did. Sandy was becoming ever fonder of the idea of having a brother. But it made the circumstances of their decades-long separation that much more unsettling.

Dad continued, "If I had known, this'd be a very different story."

"I think," Phil suddenly piped up, "the most important thing now is to hear everything you do know. If you're up for sharing it, that is."

"It was a long time ago..." Dad's words trailed off and he sounded tired, then not. "But you know I do things above-board. I always have-" Dad cut himself off. He and Sandy both knew why.

Sanford Winfield was 100% on the level. Except for the time he tried to buy Sandy out of a phony murder rap. Sandy kept that to himself. He didn't like that it still bothered him. That, above almost everything else, made him forever wary of his father's methods—Dad's determination to secure the outcome he wanted in any given situation.

Taking his statements at face value, Sandy could only surmise, "Then there has to be a paper trail, records. Something to connect the dots." Between himself and Phil. "People aren't just given a child without some kind of documentation."

"Unless," Phil interjected, "it was the kind of arrangement where documentation was directly avoided."

Sandy easily understood Phil's meaning: under the table. Illegal even, perhaps.

Sandy could see his father's jaw tighten, his whole body stiffen over the affront. "It was a reputable facility."

"Facility?" Sandy echoed. He wasn't expecting to hear things referred to in such clinical terms.

Things? Himself, Phil, and the place they likely spent their earliest days.

Dad took the initiative—or was it bait?—and spelled it out. "An orphanage."

"Right. Well, even if everything was legit—on your end, at least—was there anything off about any of it?"

"You're the only child I've ever adopted; I wouldn't know."

"You're a smart man. I have a feeling you'd be able to smell a rat."

"Once your mother and I signed the papers and took you home, that was it. Except..."

"Except?"

"The visits."

"Visits?" Sandy repeated.

"Every sixth months, until you were twelve. Do you remember?"

Sandy didn't. Then he did. Some pencil pusher would come by the house and observe him, talk to him, talk to Dad. He took all kinds of notes, mmm-hmm'd and nodded a lot. Then disappeared into the wind for half a year. He only remembered so much about the man, but what little he did put the back of his neck to tingling.

"I thought that was your doing," Sandy admitted.

It wasn't that far of a stretch, Dad hiring a shrink to make sure his only heir wasn't deranged or something. To make sure he fit into those old Winfield grooves on Wall Street. Especially considering he wasn't a Winfield by blood, as it turned out.

Dad scoffed. "Hardly. That was part of the arrangement. It was suggested that if we ever refused those visits, or if the doctor ever saw anything he deemed problematic in his assessment, that you would be taken away."

"This doctor..." Phil's voice was coated with trepidation. After a reflective pause, he asked, "Was he always sort of disheveled looking? Kind of neurotic? With salt and pepper hair and Coca Cola bottle glasses?"

"You remember him, too?" Sandy asked.

"Yeah. My parents never explained why he came around. They just told me to be on my best behavior."

"Which was a fair sight better than Sandy's, I'd assume."

Phil smiled. Fondly, warmly, but betraying just a tiny bit of mischievousness. "I'm not sure about that."

Dad cleared his throat. He glanced around the room as if it suddenly struck him as inadequate. "I'd say we should go somewhere more private to discuss this further, but I wager this is about as private as it gets."

"It's fine, Dad. You've told us plenty. Enough to move the investigation forward, at least."

"I do want to help, you have to believe me."

"We do. That is-" Sandy interrupted himself. He and Phil may have been identical to one another but that didn't give him carte blanche to speak for him.

However, Phil echoed him. "We do."

Dad nodded, seeming pleased, in his typical overly subdued sort of way. "And if it's alright, I'd like to spend more time with both of you."

"It's not particularly private, but I just so happen to have an invite to a little get-together this evening." Phil cocked his head to the side, asking, "If you'd join me? I mean-"

Sandy easily understood what he was getting at. "Us. If you'd join us."

"I'd be honored to."

A/N: Shortest chapter thus far. The length of Kim's POV here is the main reason the word count is low. I wanted very much for all of the credited cast of both shows (appearing in this story) to get at least one POV, even those I don't feel particularly confident writing. Cha Cha is the only one who hasn't had one yet but she kicks off the next chapter.