I pause to think about it. We need a safe place for the remaining Syndicate members to meet up and rally. Not here; this compound needs to remain a secret. Somewhere outside the city proper would be good, on the outskirts, maybe in an unassuming suburb. But where? Several of our holdings went up in smoke, and whatever’s left might be compromised. I’ve been such a simp over Aron that I haven’t even checked the bank accounts. Did they get to our funds, too, or did they just destroy the physical locations?
Sitting at one of the consoles, I start typing. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. This was obviously an inside job. If they got to our accountants, we could be wiped clean.
Of the dozens of various accounts, funds, and holdings belonging to the Royal Syndicate, roughly half have been emptied. We’re still rich, but not nearly as wealthy as we were before the attacks. That’s not what concerns me the most, though. What concerns me isn’t the amount of money stolen, but which accounts were liquidated.
They’re all accounts that Javier had access to.
Chapter 13
Aron
I normally don’t pay much attention to what Matt’s doing when he’s checking Syndicate funds. I’m a guard, not an accountant, so most of it is meaningless to me. When Matt’s face turns white, though, I start to get curious. I glance at the screen over his shoulder, but it still doesn’t make much sense, so I ask.
The answer makes my blood boil.
I already suspected my dad of being the mastermind behind the attacks, but now? Now it’s a given.
Dad killed Emily. Tried to kill me. I can’t believe it.
To his credit, Matt stops me from storming out of the panic house and finding Dad. All I want to do is hunt him down and make him pay, but Matt’s more level-headed about it than I am. He didn’t lose his wife and unborn child in the explosive attacks on the Syndicate, so I guess it makes sense that he’s more composed.
“Not yet, Aron. We’ve got to plan this more.” Matt holds me tight, half embrace and half restraint. His lips brush my neck gently, and the mere touch is enough to start calming me. My strained muscles relax, and I lean into him. “Javier will pay, butwe’ve got to be smart about how we make that happen.”
Tears sting my eyes. “I just can’t believe Dad would do this to you, to Tito. He loved him like a brother. You guys are family.”
“Well,” Matt says with a sigh, “wewerefamily. I guess that changed, for Javier at least.”
I turn in Matt’s arms. “But why? What could have happened to make Dad go to these lengths? Tito gave him everything. It makes no sense.”
There’s something about Matt’s pause, something in his pained expression, that tells me he has a theory—one I won’t like. I press him for more, but he shakes his head and leads me out of the control room, shutting the door behind us.
“It doesn’t matter what I think. Suffice it to say that maybe what my dad was giving Javier just wasn’t enough anymore.”
What’s he suggesting? Does he think Dad got greedy?
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go spar for a few.”
“What about the others? I thought we were going to find somewhere to meet with the survivors.”
“And we will. But for now, we’re both agitated by this new development. I think we could stand to work off a little steam. Since your shoulder’s still off-limits, we’ll keep it light. Nothing too strenuous.”
“I’m fine,” I say, but Matt’s not having it.
“You were shot in that shoulder less than a week ago. Don’t push it.”
We head for the gym, where we change into workout shorts for comfort and ease of movement. After a few stretches, we step onto the padded mat and square off.
“Anything goes?” I ask.
“We’ll spare each other a bit. I’ll steer clear of your shoulder, and, if you would be so kind, take it easy on my torso.”
I frown. “That’s rather limiting.”
“What do you suggest?”
Testing my shoulder, I throw a few aimless shots. “Well, I suggest we fight like we would if it was Dad we were up against. He’s not going to pull punches, and he’s not going to take it easy on either of us. We were both on the hit list, after all.”
“Good point.” Matt fires off a few test punches of his own. I don’t miss the slight grimace on his face with each hit. “When do we stop?”
