Strider leaves a long pause. I hear him groan and imagine him sweeping a hand over his face. “Reid’s opinion of you shouldn’t matter. Don’t forget your boyfriend and his brothers lead dark and murky lives, dark enough for them to keep their faces off the internet. Stop trying to exonerate them.”
I clench my jaw. “I’m not trying to exonerate them, and if you call him my boyfriend again, I’m going to cut your balls off.”
“OK, OK. Message understood,” my best friend says. His tone is conciliatory when he adds, “But even if we canconsider, for just a moment, that the Griffins weren’t responsible for burning down the factory, they’re still showing an unhealthy interest in what’s happening in Poulton Springs. They tried to get their estranged mother – a dying woman – to hand over the deeds to Barrett’s estate, for fuck’s sake.”
I open my mouth to remind Strider that Alice Emerson wasn’t Reid’s mother, but he’ll accuse me of leaping to his defense again.
“If Alice hadn’t inconveniently died before the papers were signed, the Russians would be a Griffin problem right now.” Strider continues. “Why would they do that if it wasn’t to help the McConkeys get back their base?”
“I don’t know,” I have to admit. “But if they are following John McConkey’s orders to reclaim the site, why would they try to sabotage the build project?”
For my sins, it’s my project now. Managing the final fixes at the mansion is easy enough, but I’m also responsible for the construction work in the more isolated parts of the estate. There are buildings under construction on the edge of a steep ravine that have been labelled on the architect’s drawings as a guesthouse and stable block. Barrett says he doesn’t know what the Russians will be using them for, but I know. And it sickens me.
Strider huffs. “If it was Mace who hacked into the architect’s systems. He’s not the only one with hacking skills.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a brilliant hacker, Strider, but it wasn’t you.”
“I wasn’t suggesting it was,” he replies with a sniff.
“Good, because you’re one of the good ones.”
“Glad you noticed. And you might want to remind yourself that Reid and his brothers are the bad guys, Jade.”
“Stop calling me that,” I interject. “I’m not Jadeanymore. And I don’t want to go back to being who she was. Not ever.”
“Fine, but don’t get too comfortable being Quinn either. She’s not real.”
Reid had said the same, but I’m getting attached to my make-believe persona. She doesn’t have to wrestle with regrets or guilt.
“Strider, I have to go. I need to call Barrett and let him know that the Ridgemont consultant has highlighted significant weaknesses in our security systems. Hopefully, he’ll be too mad at the guards to give me a hard time about inviting a pseudo company into his new house.”
“That was on me,” Strider says. “I hate to say it, Quinn, but we both need to up our game, and fast.”
Chapter 3
Reid
My brothers and I meet in our Chicago office a few days later, and their expressions are grim.
Ash and Mace have been crisscrossing the country to visit some of our key business partners, and dealing with a number of cyberattacks from the Russians. Hunter, meanwhile, has been spending time at the paper mill in Brimstage, which was brought under the Griffin portfolio when he married Maddie.
It’s fair to say we have an eclectic mix of investments. If Ash identifies a struggling company with untapped potential, particularly one that a small town relies on for employment, we step in if we can. Our work isn’t completely altruistic – we profit as much as the communities we serve – but watching towns thrive again is good for the soul. It eases our consciences. Ash’s most of all.
My mom had been diagnosed with cancer not long after he’d graduated from college, and the medical bills were beyond our dad’s means. James Griffin was a melting pot of brilliant ideas and good intentions, but they rarely took solid form. Dad was an eccentric by anyone’s standard.
I wish I’d had time to explain to Quinn how Ash had been forced to step up as the eldest son, and in the early days, his alliance with John McConkey had been born out of necessity. We’ve each inherited an element of dad’s genius, but it was Ash who built the Griffin empire from scratch.
My brother’s hard work kept Mom alive for five years beyond her prognosis, and we have nothing to feel guilty about. Well, almost nothing. There are certain grey areas, as I’ve discovered since joining the firm.
My brothers are not men to be crossed, and the atmosphere is tense as we gather around the conference table.
“I’m sick of putting out the Russian’s fires,” Mace says. “It’s time Ilya found out exactly what we’re capable of.”
“And what exactly is that?” I ask. It’s a genuine question despite the scowl Mace gives me. “We’re not in the same league as the Bratva. We don’t have an army. And we don’t have the backing of the one ally that does. There’s only so long we can hide the fact that John McConkey is sitting this one out. And we shouldn’t be entering a fight we can’t win.”
“No, we shouldn’t,” Ash says. He eyes me over his coffee cup as he takes a sip. “Which is why we’ve been building our numbers.”
“Since when?”
