I glance at Shane. There’s been no mention of the fact that the dean is trying to rid the campus of him. I’m sure that’s an intentional omission.
Avery wants to stay, so they’re both staying.
If the dean is smart, he won’t force the issue. Because the chances of anyone successfully separating Shane from Avery is zero.
46
ERIK
Two days later, Shane and I buzz in at the Ex Fato Club in Boston. This is the alumni club of the Dark Knights, where the men meet to socialize. But, of course, this is no social call. We’re here to talk to the subset of men who funded the sugar baby scholarships. Men that Casanova was secretly targeting.
Jeff Tremblay is the one who meets us at the door. The usually affable former quarterback is not smiling today. He shakes hands with us and ushers us in.
Tremblay’s the only one I’ve met before. My recruitment was so recent I haven’t been formally inducted yet. Declan and Tremblay arranged this meeting, though Declan is not here. The rule of law right now is that at least one of the three of us is at GU at all times, and that each girl has an armed guard anytime she goes to campus.
Shane suggested he and I come. Makes sense since we’re here to talk about wetwork and they try to keep Declan’s hands clean. These days, I’ve got a lot to lose myself, but I want to be here. Arya was naked and chained to the ground. Smith-Hall promised he would kill her. I want to make sure there’s a permanent, and extremely violent, solution to the Casanova problem.
There are three men seated in the lounge, waiting for us. Chad Carver, Gordon Freet, and Jon Marshall. Carver and Freet were GU roommates who graduated four years after Brock Stowe. They’re partners in one of the most profitable hedge funds in the U.S. Marshall, a sitting state judge, is five years older than the other two. All of them were involved in the special scholarship program that allowed them to gangbang pretty college students, including Isobel Long and Emily Halverson.
Shane and I sit in leather wingback chairs in the circle that’s been set up. Tremblay brings us drinks. There’s a bit of talk about the football season and the upcoming NFL draft, and then Shane gets down to it.
“We looked through security footage of the street outside this club. Smith-Hall’s car was parked near here half a dozen times, including some nights when Jeff says there were play sessions going on.”
“Smith-Hall always resented not being inducted,” Gordon Freet says, smoothing down his tie, even though it already has a gold GU tie pin. “His family’s Granthorpe ties are almost as deep as the Heyworths and Buchanans. And he was a better student and businessman than Brock. Brock liked the jealousy. He swore he never confirmed to Smith-Hall that he was a Dark Knight, but you can be sure he hinted at it.”
Shane leans forward. “Here’s the thing. If there’s a trial, Smith-Hall’s movements will be dissected, and it’ll come out that he was here. He took two scholarship girls with ties to the Dark Knights. According to Emily Halverson, he milked them for information.”
The men exchange startled looks, and one of them sits back, turning pale. “Has Emily talked to the police?”
“Not about the Dark Knights. And so far, neither has Smith-Hall, but we don’t think it’s likely he’ll remain silent forever. He’s clearly vindictive. He’ll want to drag as many people down as he can. And humiliating girls is his favorite pastime. According to law enforcement, he’s still trying to claim he was in the tunnels to rescue the girls and that they misunderstood what happened. He’s hinted through his lawyer that he has information about other crimes at GU. Men with motives to kill the girls who died. He’ll try to muddy the waters. It’s even possible he’s laid a path of false clues that’ll make one of you, probably Brock, the scapegoat. If so, that path will lead right here.”
Tremblay sets his empty cocktail glass down and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, even in custody, he’s still a danger to us.”
“What are you proposing?” Freet says.
“A gamble. The ante is a quarter of a million dollars each,” Shane says.
“And the money will be for…?” Chad Carver asks, turning his college ring on his finger.
“The Justice for Granthorpe fund,” Shane says, passing out white squares of card stock with a bank name and account number.
“My money is already in,” Tremblay says. “So is Brock’s share.”
“Contributed by the Heyworths?” Carver asks.
“Let’s call it an anonymous donation,” Shane says. “And if any of you prefer for there to be no documentation of the ACH transfer, my number is on the back of the card. The fund accepts cash.”
“He’s in a county jail right now, but I’ve heard he’ll be transferred to federal custody soon. How long do we have to get you the money?” Freet says.
“You’re the ones with everything on the line. If you want to risk a wait-and-see approach, go ahead.” Shane finishes his drink and stands. “We’ll leave you to discuss things in private."
Carver nods. “I know my answer.”
“So do I,” Freet says. “He murdered one girl who belonged to this club and raped and tortured another. That should never have happened to Isobel and Emily. And our sluggish response allowed him to kill a Dark Knight and kidnap the girlfriends of two others. He has to be brought to account.”
“Agreed,” Carver says.
They glance over at Marshall, a bulky man with prematurely silver hair and a mostly black goatee.
