He looks up at me. “I’d swear to it.”
That’s enough.
I gather the photos and slide them back into the envelope.
“You’ve given me what I needed,” I say. “What you told me stays between us.”
Iggy nods, already on his feet. “I don’t intend to say a word about this to anyone.”
He leaves without another word. The door clicks shut behind him.
I sit there for a long moment, staring at the desk where the photos had been. Names have weight, faces carry consequence, and knowing them changes what comes next.
For the first time since my father died, the picture is no longer fragmented.
The Duvalls didn’t stumble into this. They were there. Waiting.
And now I know exactly where to aim.
Vin steps insidefrom the main room, moving with the same smooth, unhurried confidence I’ve watched my entire life. He doesn’t look around or wait to be acknowledged. He never has.
That ease has always been his advantage. Vin knows exactly who he is, and he doesn’t waste energy proving it. It’s what made him indispensable to my father’s company. What made him indispensable in this city long before I was old enough to understand how power actually works.
“Tell me what you found out,” Vin says. “Sorry I missed the meeting. Did you get anything of consequence?”
His eyes flick briefly to the edge of the table, where the envelope sits. He notices everything. Always has.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. I gesture for him to take a seat. “I wanted to run a couple of things by you.”
Vin sits, resting one ankle over his knee. Relaxed. Attentive. “Shoot.”
I let the silence stretch for a beat, watching him, then reach for the envelope and slide the photos out across the table.
“You remember the photos I mentioned?”
Vin’s expression tightens slightly. “Yeah. I meant to ask about those. You forgot them the other day. I’ve been wanting to see them.”
“Now’s your chance,” I say evenly. “Thought you might have some insight.”
He leans forward and picks one up, studying it carefully. His brow furrows, and he lets out a low sound under his breath. “Damn. Haven’t seen these in a while.”
“You recognize them.”
“Of course.” He taps a few faces. “That’s Dane.Ronnie. Fucking Juno. Yeah, I know most everyone in these.”
My jaw tightens, but I keep my voice level. Names do that. They turn something abstract into something that can be acted on. “When were these taken?”
“Last year,” Vin says, setting the photo down. “Duvall approached your father about a shipping lane deal. He wanted to share access on one particular line and offered a profit split.”
I nod as I bite my top lip, thinking back to what Wells told me and now recalling a brief conversation I had with my father. I can see him now, standing in the kitchen, coffee gone cold, already irritated by the idea before he finished explaining it. “I’d forgotten he’d mentioned it to me. Didn’t like it.”
“He was right not to,” Vin says without hesitation. “That deal only benefited Duvall. Too many variables. Too much coordination. Too many places for things to go sideways.”
That sounds like my father. Controlled risk, no partners he couldn’t manage outright, opening himself up to risk that was unnecessary.
“How do these exist?” I ask, gesturing to the spread.
“Your father had a photographer hidden for the meeting,” Vin says. “Wanted a record of every face that showed up. He figured if the Duvalls ever tried something, we’d know exactly who to look for.”
