Security guards pour out to give us room to pass.
Dutch, Zane, and I rush through the tiny path the guards create and squeeze into an empty elevator.
Zane brushes at a lipstick stain on his jacket, his lips curled in disgust. “Is it the wedding ring? Why are the girls more rabid now than before?”
“Maybe our music is more honest now than before,” Dutch says thoughtfully.
“It could be we’ve hit an acceleration point,” I suggest. “We’ve been playing for years. Hard work compounds.”
“Yeah, well… I feel like I’ve been pounded.” Zane gives up on scrubbing the lipstick stain off and shrugs out of his jacket entirely. When I arch an eyebrow in question, he explains, “I don’t want my wife seeing this online and thinking I want anyone but her.” He flashes his ring. “I’m saving myself for marriage.”
I roll my eyes.
Dutch smirks.
We get off the elevator and walk into a clean, busy office. Floor-to-ceiling windows show off a brilliant view of downtown. Skyscrapers reach for the clear blue sky, poking a hole into heaven.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asks, shooting to her feet.
Dutch strides past her, barely giving her a look.
Zane does the same.
I follow.
“You guys know where you’re going?” I mutter. Mom owns the entire stretch of buildings on the downtown strip. As far as I know, neither of them have been here—or even seen half of her founded companies before.
Zane nods to a door down the hallway. “We’re looking for that guy.”
I peer at the name card.
Robert Zabanero
Dutch throws the door open, and it bangs against the wall. A short, balding man gasps from behind a mahogany desk.
“Mr. Zabanero.” Zane swaggers forward. “We finally meet in person.”
He points. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing in my office?”
“We’re Jacqueline Cross’s sons,” I say calmly.
Zabanero’s eyes narrow in recognition. “You’re the ones who’ve been calling non-stop.”
“And you’re the one who gave us the runaround.” Zane steps forward, his nostrils flaring. “Try dodging us in person.”
“I don’t think he would,” Dutch says menacingly. “Not after we came all this way.”
Zabanero frowns. “You wasted a trip, gentlemen. Like I and my assistant told you on the phone, Jacqueline sits on the board, but she doesn’t run operations. And she also doesn’t report to me. I don’t know where she is.”
Dutch steps forward calmly, his arms folded across his chest. “We investigated every one of Mom’s companies. Each CEO pointed to you being the one she was working the closest with before she disappeared.”
“That’s… ‘close’ is an incorrect term.” Zabanero coughs. “Your mom is a private investor.”
“She was more than that. Her team said she was often in this office, personally overseeing a project.”
“What was the project?” I demand.
“I can’t legally disclose that?—”
