“Was the previous financial director in on this, too? Damian?” Enzo asked.
She hesitated, then nodded. “We were both happy to help. We thought we were giving them new lives.”
“Did it never once occur to you that Grant was trafficking these women?” Seven demanded.
“He wouldn’t do that!” she cried.
“Except, he did.” Seven’s words landed hard. “He did do that. We have proof. Proofyougave us.”
“What?” Her face crumpled.
Seven shook his head. How could someone be so blind? Instantly, his mother’s face popped into his head. He’d spent years thinking that she’d been this blinded by love for his father only to find out that she was only giving in to protect him. He doubted Brioni’s motives were that noble.
“Those files you dumped in Neith’s bag.” Enzo’s tone was steady, clinical. “You handed us Grant’s entire operation. Thanks to you, we know who he took, which donor bought them, and—if we’re lucky—where they are, so we can pull them out. But that wasn’t your intent, was it?”
Brioni sank back against the counter, hands covering her mouth. “No. No way. He wasn’t doing that. Grant and his friends…they’ve always—” Her voice broke. She trailed off as the kettle clicked and beeped.
She turned, the movement small and mechanical, and poured hot water over a teabag. She stood there, shoulders shaking as she sobbed. Seven had a hard time finding sympathy in himself; pity and anger tangled where sympathy might have been had she not framed his mother.
When she finally forced herself to turn, she cradled the mug like it might keep her together. Her smile was a wobble. “Can we go back to the living room? I’m a little dizzy.”
Seven watched her, every muscle taut. He didn’t trust the tremor—not yet—but he couldn’t ignore how small she looked against the brightness of her kitchen lights.
Once they were settled, and Brioni was wrapped again in her fuzzy blanket, she looked at them with red-rimmed eyes. “Ask me anything. I’ll try to answer.”
“Why did you frame my mother?” Seven spat, glaring at her. “She really liked you.”
“I like her,” Brioni cried. “I didn’t want to frame her, but Grant said if he or I went down for it, we wouldn’t be able to help those women.”
Seven’s lip curled. “You thought my mom was a better sacrifice?”
“Grant said if Neith knew the whole story, she would have volunteered as the scapegoat because she was so devoted to the cause. I begged him—beggedhim—to let me tell her what was going on, but he refused. He said the more people who knew, the more dangerous it would become. And after the Marcus situation, I knew he was right.”
“Marcus? What did he have to do with this?” Enzo asked.
“Grant brought him in because he was related to a donor who all but insisted that Grant hire him. But pretty quickly, it became clear he wasn’t a good person. He was harassing the women we were meant to help. Neith insisted he be fired. Grant said they couldn’t fire the relative of a donor. He quietly found him another job. A better job.”
“That wasn’t a red flag to you?” Seven’s voice went sharp. “You didn’t care that someone who clearly abused his power over women was not only not disciplined, but washelpedtofind a better place where he could keep victimizing vulnerable people?”
“I didn’t see it that way. I—” She cut herself off, sipping her tea and wincing. “I guess I just didn’twantto see it that way.”
“Why did Grant kill Damian?” Enzo asked.
“What?” Brioni gasped. “He didn’t. That was an accident.”
“Damian was allergic to alcohol. Why would he drink and drive?” Seven pushed.
She closed her eyes and looked suddenly years older. “No. He was a recovering alcoholic. Grant said he was—” Her words fell away. When she opened her eyes, she said, “He lied about that, too, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, Brioni.” Enzo’s tone was flat. “I’m guessing he got Damian a better job to cover his tracks and pull Neith in as the fall guy.”
“But why kill him, then?” she whispered.
Enzo huffed. “Traffickers aren’t big on loose ends.”
“Grant promoted my mother over you because she was onto you, right?” Seven asked.
Brioni nodded. “If she kept pushing, she would have figured out what we were doing. I didn’t think it would be that bad, but Grant was insistent. When your mother mentioned bringing in former clients, I tried to casually dissuade her. I thought it had worked. Then Grant got word of a DOJ audit. At first, he thought your mother had triggered it somehow, like she was starting to suspect Grant was using the charity in ways that weren’t permitted. It turned out to be a terrible coincidence, but either way, they were about to discover what we were doing. That was when Grant said we had to frame her.”
