The thought sucks the air out of me.
I lift my eyes to his. “Juno. How did they get to him?”
Gabe pulls up financial records. Offshore accounts and shell companies are stacked three layers deep.
“Wells followed the money,” he says. “Juno knew the risk. He was paid ten million to kill your father and make it look like Boudreaux was responsible if he was caught.”
“Why does a dead man need ten million dollars? I had a gun to his face. I still don’t understand why he chose to die lying.”
“The money transferred to his wife the day after Robert died,” Gabe says. “It was always set up that way. You were meant to find him and ask him questions. Duvall wanted you to walk away believing the wrong man killed your father.”
“Motherfucker.”
The room tilts. We had pieces of this before, fragments. But seeing the whole structure at once makes my stomach roll.
I stop pacing and look at him fully.
“Does Wells know all of this?”
“He does,” Gabe says. “He’s been working it with me. Once we had enough to justify it, he traced the money and broke into the burner traffic.”
I nod slowly. The facts line up, and the timeline holds. What doesn’t sit as cleanly is that this didn’t break containment until my father was already dead.
“Good,” I say. “Then we’re aligned.”
Gabe watches me for a beat. “What do you want to do next?”
I think of the shipment already on the water, the way the Duvalls almost got it through with no one noticing, and their death didn’t stop it.
Then I think of Vin, waiting at the Orchid. It doesn’tmake sense that my father didn’t tell him this. Surely he knows more than Gabe is suggesting.
“Nothing yet,” I say. “I want to talk to Vin.”
Gabe inclines his head. “I’ll stay on standby.”
I turn for the door. The answers about my father are finally in place. The failure in our operation isn’t.
The lounge is quieterthan usual, though low laughter and the soft clink of glass remind me it never fully shuts down.
I step inside and give my eyes a moment to adjust. The lighting stays low, the air hazy with cigar smoke and perfume. Rich wood paneling and velvet seating do their usual work, selling comfort and privacy without needing to advertise it.
Tonight, though, the room is tighter than it normally is, less expansive than I remember.
My stomach tightens when I spot Vin at the bar.
He’s relaxed on a stool, one arm draped easily around a blonde in a dress designed to be noticed. He’s smiling, unbothered, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her shoulder like nothing beyond this moment demands his attention.
I feel a flicker of irritation before I can stop it. The contrast is sharp, his ease against the constant pressure that’s been humming under everything lately.
I pause just inside the room and watch him.
He doesn’t notice me right away. When he does, his smile falters for half a second before settling back into place. He knows exactly how unstable things are right now. And still, he looks entirely like himself.
“Well, well,” he says, lifting his glass. “The man of the hour finally shows.”
I cross the room at an unhurried pace. Vin leans in and murmurs something to the blonde. She laughs, slides off her stool, and disappears back into the crowd without looking back.
“What took you so long?” Vin asks as I stop beside the bar. He tips his glass toward me. “You said you were on your way over an hour ago. What happened?”
