I pull out one of the dining chairs, turn it around, straddle it with my arms resting on the back. Casual. Like we're old friends catching up.
“Here's how this works,” I say. “I ask questions. You answer. We leave. Everyone goes home happy.”
James's jaw works. The last time he saw me, I had my hand around his wrist, promising to break it if he touched Emma again. He remembers. I can see it in the way he won't quite meet my eyes.
“I don't have to tell you anything.”
“No, you don't.” I tilt my head. “But I think you will. Because the alternative is much less pleasant, and you've always been the practical type. Taking the easy way out. The path of least resistance.” I pause. “That's how you ended up here, isn't it? Someone offered you an easy payday, and you took it without asking too many questions.”
Something flickers in his expression. Fear.
“Who's paying for this apartment, James?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You were living in a studio back home. Now you're in Silverpoint, two grand a month minimum, no job, no prospects.” I let the silence stretch. “Someone's bankrolling you. Who?”
He says nothing.
Tank moves to the window, peers through the blinds like he's checking for witnesses. The message is clear. No one's coming to help.
“Let me tell you what I think happened,” I continue. “You were broke. Humiliated. Emma left you, your career tanked, and you spent months stewing in it. Someone reached out. Offered you money to come here and make her life miserable. Maybe win her back. Maybe just break us apart.” I watch his face. “Am I close?”
James's throat bobs. “You don't know anything.”
“I know you've been following her. Showing up at her building, sniffing around her workplace. I know someone's feeding you information about where she'll be.” I lean forward. “What I don't know is who. But you're going to tell me.”
“Or what?” A flash of the old bravado. “You'll beat it out of me?”
“I would like that, but I won't have to.” I keep my voice even. “I'll make one phone call to the police. Stalking across state lines. Harassment. Maybe I throw in the texts you've been sending from burner accounts. You'll be in cuffs by morning, andwhoever's paying you will cut you loose so fast you won't know what happened.”
The color drains from his face. “How do you know about the texts?”
“I know everything, James. The question is whether you want to cooperate, or whether you want to find out what happens when you don't.”
He stares at me for a long moment until his shoulders slump, the fight draining out of him.
“Some guy reached out a few months ago,” he says, the words coming out flat. “Said he knew about my history with Emma. Said he could help me if I was interested in... reconnecting with her.”
“Reconnecting.”
“Getting her back.” James's lip curls. “She made me look like an idiot when she left. Told everyone I abused her, turned our friends against me. My own family looked at me differently after that. I wanted her to pay for it.”
I feel Tank shift behind me. A low rumble in his chest.
“So this guy offered to help you, what? Win her back? Make her regret leaving?”
“Both.” James shrugs. “He said he had his own reasons for wanting to see you two split up. Didn't go into details. Just said if I could get between you, drive a wedge, maybe remind Emma what she was missing, he'd make it worth my while.”
“How much?”
“Five grand a month. Plus the apartment.”
Five grand a month to stalk my girlfriend. I file that away, keep my expression neutral.
“How did he contact you?”
“Email at first. Encrypted. Then he started calling from blocked numbers.”
