He’d pored over a picture of Cam and Sebastian at their parents’ funeral, flanked by Senator Emmett Shaw and his entourage. He’d encountered dead-end after dead-end trying to trace the witness who’d seen Damon drinking before the crash. He’d slogged through multi-page articles cut from tech journals reporting on new technologies, and rolled his eyes at political pieces on special interest lobbies and military spending. He’d pored over every article as though they were fragments of a puzzle, trying to figure out the hidden meanings, trying to twist them into a clear picture of whatever Damon was trying to tell him, but only one consistent theme had emerged:Seaver, Seaver,Seaver.
What he’d found during his investigation was that Cam was at the helm of the company, while Sebastian had become a near-recluse who disappeared for weeks at a time, only emerging to continue dragging Damon’s reputation through the mud at every opportunity, or hack government computers withoutrepercussions.
It had been an easy leap from there to see what Damon was pointing out. If Damon himself hadn’t caused the accident by failing to inspect the engine,someone else must have sabotaged the plane.Who would profit from the death of Charlotte and LeviSeaver?
Sebastian andCam.
Cort had pretty much ruled out Cam even before his dick had become involved Friday night, and nothing about his quiet strength or reluctant assumption of authority suggested he could have set the events in motion that killed his parents. So, Sebastian must have beeninvolved.
And wouldn’t Cam love to hear that, coming fromCort?
Cort squeezed his eyes shut at the idea of causing Cam that much pain. And he would never believe it, not until Cort had concrete proof, so Cort would wait to share that information until Cam could easily draw his ownconclusions.
Not for the first time, he wished he could call Damon and consult hisbrother.
It wasn’t lost on him that Damon hadn’t called to askCort’sopinion on the case over all these months, or to chat about Cort’s life and mental state. And he recognized that he was essentially duplicating Damon’s work, double-checking all the conclusions Damon had already come to. Why couldn’t Damon call him, even anonymously? Why not send a letter of explanation? Why wait until nearly six months after theaccident?
He shoved the papers back in the folder along with all the newspaper clippings which had fallen out, before placing the whole stack of folders into his briefcase. He took his coffee cup to the sink and washed it carefully -look at me, being responsible and not pitiful!- and then headed for theshower.
He had had no clue what his brother was doing, but he knew Damon was smart, and would have faith in Cort’s loyalty. So Cort had set up a facial recognition scan and waited patiently for months, until the previous week when pieces began to fall intoplace.
The first, another anonymous envelope, had arrived on Monday containing an outdated travel brochure from a tiny island called St. Brigitte. Google told him the island was once semi-private, but now owned entirely by the Tyndall family, who used it to host enormous fundraising galas like the ones the Seavers always attended. And a quick (nausea-inducing) glance at a well-known Boston society blog had told him the next such event, the Tyndalls’ end-of-summer party, was comingup.
The second breakthrough was on Friday morning, when Damon’s face had been captured at the largest commercial airport near St. Brigitte. Damon would be on the island, Cort had no doubt, so he needed to get there too. And whether Cam liked it or not, he would be Cort’sticket.
Cort took the fastest shower known to man then threw on a suit and tie. He grabbed his phone, wallet, and lucky quarter from the dresser, collected his briefcase from the coffee table, then headed for the door before he could reconsider his plan. Damon was counting on him. He would not betray his brother’s trust for a love affair which could only end intragedy.
