Because God knows I'm not leaving Riley to the wolves.
I meant it when I said she's mine now.
17
RILEY
The screen glows in front of me, folders within folders within folders, all of them hiding something ugly. I've been staring at transaction logs for so long the numbers have started to blur together, but Rafe's still standing behind me, watching over my shoulder as my fingers move across the keyboard.
"There," he says, leaning closer. His hand rests on the back of my chair and I don’t know if he even knows it, but his fingers are gently scratching my shoulder every few seconds. "That one. The Albany account."
I click into the folder and rows of payments appear. All of them are routed through a consulting firm that probably doesn't have an office or employees or anything resembling legitimate business. It's just a name on paper and a bank account that funnels money to people who are supposed to be upholding the law, not colluding with criminals.
My cursor hovers over the files.
"Delete them?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. This is wrong. It's so fucking wrong.
"Yes."
I think about the consequences for this. All those political ties to Salvatore Ferretti are just being hidden. The connections will remain and those men will still be paid off and have a gun to the heads of their wives and children, but Ferretti will walk away clean as a whistle because of my work. It's agonizing, too, to know the risk I'm taking and that if Ferretti does end up harming those women or children, there will be no tie back to him, and thus, no justice.
"Well?" Rafe asks, and I heave out a sigh. This isn't what I thought I'd be doing today. Hell, this isn't what I thought I'd be doing with my life at all. A month ago, I was filing expense reports and helping elderly customers reset their PIN codes. Now I'm erasing evidence of bribes paid to judges and politicians, and the man who kidnapped me is standing so close I can smell his cologne.
I click the delete button and the file vanishes off into the void wherever deleted files go, knowing I'll have to wipe the hard drive thoroughly if it's going to be completely erased. But that thumb drive I have in my duffel bag acts as a cushion for my desperate soul that needs comfort. I do have a record of some of this. I could actually make a difference if it becomes necessary. That doesn’t make me feel any better about it, though.
"You're good at this," Rafe says.
I ignore his praise because it sickens me that I've stooped so low as to cover up his crimes. It's not just rebuilding financials so he can withstand an audit. This isn't like actuating accounts or balancing a checkbook. This is blatant cover-up and I'm the one doing it. And I can't even say I'm doing it under duress anymore.Every time I look into Rafe's eyes, all I see is that little boy who got a gun for Christmas instead of the toy he wanted.
I'm fucked in the head and there's no way to fix it.
I pull up the Buffalo files next and start sorting through them. It's just more payments, more shell companies, and more people who took money and turned their backs. Every time I find one, Rafe tells me to delete it, and I do. My fingers move faster now, and I try not to think too hard about what I'm actually doing.
Hours pass and my back starts to ache. My eyes feel dry and scratchy. And even Rafe gets tired and pulls up a chair beside me. But I keep working through the files, removing every trace of Rafe's connection to criminal things to make his pharmaceutical company look straight.
Then I find a folder labeled with his initials, "RF". I click on it without thinking, and suddenly, the screen is full of documents I wasn't supposed to see. The file shows Rafe's personal kickbacks from transactions that have no financial bearing on company records. Payouts from shipments that were made to his personal accounts aside from company finances, and they coincide with legitimate transactions from drug distributers and shipping manifests from honest pharmaceutical transfers.
I freeze.
Rafe Ferretti is smuggling cocaine and fentanyl through Next Gen and taking payments that are then laundered through the establishment. It's how he's so fucking wealthy, and it's how the FBI can take him down. This file is like a crashed airliner's black box and if anyone saw it, they'd know every dirty thing he's done for the past five years of running this company.
Rafe must notice the change in my posture because my entire body is rigid. My fingers hover over the keys and I can feel my face going pale as blood drains from it. He wants me to delete this, and if I don't do it, what sort of person am I?
"I'll get you something to eat," he says. "You've been at this for hours." He stands and the chair scratches on the floor, but I don't answer. I hear him walk away toward the kitchen, and then I'm alone with the screen and the decision staring me in the face.
Delete the folder—save him. But I'd make myself even more complicit in all of this than I already am.
Or leave it, and let the Feds find it. And I'd watch him go down for everything he's done.
My hand moves to the delete button but stops there, trembling.
What am I doing?
My eyes press closed and I suck in a deep breath, but all I can see is the sad face of a younger version of Rafe Ferretti as he asks for a toy and receives a gun as a gift instead. He was forced into this life. It's what I tell myself, but I know everyone gets a choice. Mine is staring back at me from a computer screen right now, and I don't know what choice to make. He's not holding a gun to my head. He didn't ask me to delete the file. He didn't even threaten me. But I know what he expects.
Then I think about Lila trying on her wedding dress. About my mother standing on our porch with tears streaming down her face wondering where I am. About my father's voice cracking when he asked anyone who knew where I was to come forward.
I don’t have to do this. And Rafe didn't have to obey his evil, wretched father. He could've gone to his teacher or the police.He could've asked for help. But here he is, a grown man who's tangled up in the biggest crime syndicate in New York, and I'm staring at his evil deeds in real time.
