As if his silence could erase the part he played in Max’s death.
The betrayal cuts like a knife.
Of everything I’ve ever kept from Ronan, none of it compares to this. No matter what excuse he will try to offer me, because I know there will be one, he can’t hide from the truth.
Ronan hurt Max, and while he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger and ended his life, he might as well have pointed the gun.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
RONAN
The elevator dingson the top floor of Sullivan Investments, and before the doors even slide open, I’m already bracing for impact.
Ever since I took over from my father, there’s been a particular tension in the air every time I step foot in the building. It’s as if everyone is collectively holding their breath as they wait for me to mess up.
Half a dozen employees are scattered near the reception, and the moment I step out, their heads turn in my direction. I nod stiffly and keep walking, not in the mood for polite small talk.
The break room is just ahead, and for some reason, I veer toward it even though I’m due in the boardroom in ten minutes.
Once again, the conversation dies the second I enter, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes as all three staff members freeze like they’ve been caught doing something illegal.
One girl fumbles to close the fridge, and another mutters something about a client call before bolting out of the room, the others trailing behind and leaving me alone to face the silence.
I let out a long breath.
It’s going to be a hell of a long day, but at least there’s a fresh pot of coffee.
I pour myself a cup and lean back against the counter, taking a sip. It’s bitter and nothing like what I have at home, but it will do.
The room still smells like someone microwaved leftover noodles, and there’s a half-empty box of donuts on the table. I suddenly find myself wondering who bought them. They’re all pink and covered in sprinkles, the kind Ciara would no doubt have chosen, and the thought brings a smile to my lips.
Maybe I should bring her here once in a while so I can show her off.
I stare out the window at the city skyline. While that hasn’t changed, everything else has.
This place used to be different. Sullivan Investments started with people who knew my family’s reputation and didn’t care. There was no tiptoeing around whenever my father stepped foot in the building. Our employees had the confidence to challenge us, to speak up with new ideas because they felt secure enough to do so. We had each other's backs.
But now everyone looks at me like I’m the devil in a tailored suit.
And maybe I am.
I drain half the cup of coffee, set the mug in the sink, and head back toward the boardroom where I’m to spend the next few hours.
Kieran still hasn’t called with any updates on our plan to flush out the mole, which makes me uneasy.
It’s been two days since we planted the fake seeds of information, and it’s been nothing but silence ever since. I had been certain that the bait would have caught something by now. Maybe not a name, but at least a lead I could cling to, to make me feel like I still have some control over this game we're all playing.
I adjust the cuff of my shirt as I stride past the assistant's desk on my way to the boardroom. One of the girls, who barelylooks old enough to be out of college, glances up at me and then quickly down again, as if looking me directly in the eye might get her fired. Or worse.
The conference room is already full by the time I arrive, so I take my usual seat at the head of the long back table, surrounded by men in suits who care more about quarterly projections than loyalty or blood. They’re the clean face of the empire—nothing but hedge fund partners, CFOs, and lawyers rather than gangsters.
I would bet good money that not a single one of them knows how to shoot a gun, but then again, that’s not what I pay them for.
On the wall, the screens are lit with charts, graphs, and color-coded breakdowns of the business's performance so far this quarter. We’re outperforming projections, and everything looks solid, but my body is still on high alert.
I don’t trust anyone in this room.
These men smile too easily when they catch my eye and talk too smoothly for me to believe a word that comes out of their mouths. With the mole tightening the noose around our necks, I can’t help but wonder which of them would sell me out for the right price.
