He might be the CEO of Langford Holdings, but he doesn’t get to call all of the shots. He doesn’t get to sneak up into my room and slip a ring on my finger to reclaim me like a prize he lost. I miss him like crazy, but until I have some clarity from him, I will keep my distance. Whether he likes it or not. Whether he agrees to it or not.
And he’s going to learn to respect that.
3
ASHER
Declan and I step into a private room in the restaurant on the ground floor of the VI Club, where my American PI, Tyrone, is already waiting. He and my European PI, Oliver, have been working practically around the clock since I got the text that threatened Ella, and they’ve found some results for me. We decided it would be best to discuss them in person, so Tyrone agreed to meet Declan and me here.
We take our seats at the table just as the restaurant servers finish setting it with a full breakfast spread.
“It’s good to meet you,” Declan says, shaking Tyrone’s hand. Neither Declan nor Sterling have had much to do with the investigation into my grandfather’s death since I took it over twelve years ago, but I’ve decided to change that. Now that his death has been connected to TDC Oil, and the threat has resurfaced, I need them by my side. There’s too much at stake to not use their expertise.
Once the dining room is cleared of servers, I call Sterling on a video chat and place my phone on a tripod on the table.
“Oliver and I found another lead,” Tyrone says after Sterling answers the call. “As we’ve already discussed, there’s aconnection between Greenspan and TDC Oil, but Oliver and I now have strong suspicions that TDC has been quietly attacking Greenspan on and off for almost thirty years. And in the last two years, those attacks have gotten progressively worse.”
“How have we not realized TDC was going after Greenspan if it’s been happening for thirty years?” Declan muses.
“That’s the thing, Oliver and I think it must be an inside job. TDC couldn’t have acted alone since they have no access to Greenspan’s inner workings. We believe that someone was either planted or an employee was bribed, and that person has been helping TDC sabotage Greenspan from the inside all this time. We don’t know who the mole is, but we have a theory. After your grandfather was killed, the division of the company your grandfather oversaw went to his brother, Albert. As soon as Albert took over, he gradually reinstated TDC as the main supplier of oil for Freestone Tires, going directly against your grandfather’s wishes.”
“Do we think Uncle Albert could have been behind this?” Declan asks.
“Yes,” Sterling says without hesitation. “He wasn’t exactly quiet about his disdain for Greenspan or his jealousy of Grandfather. I’ve yet to find any solid links, but I’ve found some suspicious trails that I’m still researching.”
“Then you need to look at Albert’s team at the time as well,” Declan says. “I highly doubt Albert would have been the one getting his hands dirty, he’s more the type to order someone beneath him to do the ugly things.”
“Albert headed Research and Development at the time,” I say. “He would have had many brilliant minds working beneath him.”
We’re all quiet as we consider the information. A moment later Declan recites this new information in a clarifying tone. “So, whoever worked with Albert to target Greenspan wouldmost likely have been connected to him through R&D in the mid-nineties, and they are most likely still within the company since the attacks are still happening.”
Tyrone nods. “Exactly.” He turns to the phone screen. “That should narrow your search down, Sterling.”
A glint of malice shines in Sterling’s eyes. “I’ll have this motherfucker by the balls soon.”
Twenty minutes later,we climb into the back of the car to head into the office. The streets are crowded and bustling outside the car’s windows, but I only partially take in the sights, too caught up in my thoughts. I’m relieved to have some answers, but the fears that haunt the back of my mind seem to rear their ugly heads.
I close my eyes and take a breath, but it doesn’t help. With every blink, all I can see is the nightmare that pulled me from sleep far too early this morning. The same one that’s been plaguing me since I brought Ella into my life.
The gun digsinto my forehead.
Tears and snot and saliva run down my face as I gag on the tie in my mouth.
Blood runs into my right eye from the gash at my temple. I try to rub it away, but my hands are bound behind my back.
Grandpa lies in front of me, his leg bent at an unnatural angle. Thecrackof his knee shattering under the force of the hammer still rings through my ears. Blood seeps through his suit pants, pooling on the ground beneath his leg. But I’m not screaming because of the blood around his knee. I’m screaming because of the blood running from his ear. I’m screaming because of his eyes. Grandpa’s eyes, the same ice-blue shade as mine, are open. Blank, staring.
Lifeless.
“He’s just a boy!”I can still hear my grandpa’s last words play through my head.“Please, let him go! I don’t care what you do to me, but don’t hurt him. He’s just a boy!”
The hammer moved from his knee, then pounded into his temple.
He fell to the ground after that.
He’s still on the ground.
I shakemy head and try to push away the images of that night, but it doesn’t work.
