“You never hurt anyone?” I repeat softly once I can speak again.
“No.”
“And the five-year-old?” I ask. “Zach?”
His face goes blank even as Logan’s breaths become audible.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I nod slowly.
“Okay,” I say calmly. “Let’s approach this differently.”
Ezekiel relaxes a fraction. He really shouldn’t.
“I’m going to say a name,” I continue. “Let me know if you recognize it.”
He stares at me.
“Abel Hawthorne. Peter Kane. John Fields.”
Nothing.
“Samuel Harlan.”
His jaw flexes. Next to me, Rowe lets out a whimper, moving away from his volatile twin and into the shadows.
“There we go,” I murmur.
“I don’t know him,” Ezekiel snaps.
“I didn’t ask if you knew him,” I say evenly. “I asked if you recognized the name.”
Silence.
I lean back in my chair.
“I just need to understand the hierarchy.”
Moore swallows hard.
“Hierarchy?” he repeats.
“Yes. Who made decisions. Who signed off. Who approved the… offerings. You weren’t at the top,” I say gently. “You don’t seem like a visionary. You seem like a follower. An administrator.”
That hits him. Men like him hate being small.
“I was not a follower,” he says sharply.
I tilt my head.
“No?”
“No.”
“So you led?”
His nostrils flare.
