“For the right price. He’s nervous about Julian finding out, but he needs money more than he needs loyalty to a dead man.”
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand cash. Plus relocation assistance if things go sideways.”
“Done. Set it up for tonight.”
The meeting happens in a hotel room in Queens. Martin Reese shows up twenty minutes late. He’s in his forties, balding, sweating through his shirt despite the air-conditioning running full blast. He won’t make eye contact when he sits on the edge of the bed.
Declan stands by the door. I take the chair across from Reese.
“You handled properties for Victor Vance,” I say.
He nods.
“I need information about a specific one. Set up about six years ago. Quiet location, off the books, probably under a shell company.”
“Victor had dozens of properties like that?—”
“Ireland.”
His face changes. Recognition flashes across his features before he can hide it.
“Ballycotton,” he says quietly. “Eastern edge of the village. Three-bedroom cottage. Victor bought it through a shell company called Emerald Holdings.”
Ballycotton. My childhood village where I visit every few months to see my mother.
I keep my expression neutral. “Who lived there?”
“I don’t know. Victor didn’t share that information with me. Just told me to set it up, make sure it was secure, and arrange for monthly household expenses to be paid from a separate account.”
“What kind of expenses?”
Reese shifts on the bed. “Groceries. Utilities. Staff salaries for a housekeeper and a security guard. Medical care.”
“Medical care for who?”
“I saw the receipts when I processed payments. Pediatric appointments. Children’s clothing in small sizes. Educational supplies. Toys.”
My pulse kicks up, but I keep my face blank. “How many children?”
“Two. Based on the clothing purchases and medical bills. Boys, from what I could tell.”
“Ages?”
“The receipts started a little over five years ago with newborn items. They’d be five now.”
I stand and pull an envelope from my jacket. Fifty thousand in cash. I set it on the bed next to him. “You never talked to me,” I say. “You don’t know my name. If Julian asks, you don’t know anything about this meeting.”
He grabs the envelope and leaves without another word.
When the door closes, Declan turns to me. “Two boys. Five years old. In your village.”
“Get me the actual records. Property lease, financial transactions, medical receipts, everything Reese processed. I want to see the documents myself.”
“You think they’re yours.”
“I don’t think anything yet. Just get me the records.”
