“It's a risk I'll have to take.”
“Do you want to bet on a probably? What we have now is defensible. I'm an attorney reaching out about legal representation. That's above board. But you show up at a cooperating witness's home? That’s hard to explain away."
“Hard, but not impossible?” I ask.
“For me? Not impossible.”
I stare at the file on my desk. Madison's careful notes about the contaminated land. The bribes. The timeline that shows Dad knew exactly what he was buying.
The timeline I should have caught four years ago when Dad told me about the acquisition. Should have questioned why the land was priced so low. Should have asked what he was hiding.
But I didn't. I looked away. Let him handle it. And now Sebastian, who actually gives a damn about doing things right, is paying for my willful blindness.
"Set up the meeting," I say. "I'll be there in under an hour."
“This is going to cost you.”
“Everything does.” I grab my keys and head for the door. My phone buzzes again. Another text from Ivy.
I silence it.
The Blackstone name has to stay out of this. Everything Sebastian's built depends on it.
I owe him that.
Hell, I owe him more, but this is what I have to give.
The drive to Shelbyville takes almost an hour. Plenty of time to regret this night, but not enough to figure out a way around this meeting.
Voss's black Mercedes is already parked down the street from Williams’s place when I pull up. It’s expensive enough to stand out in this neighborhood, discreet enough not to scream "lawyer." The same is true of my Audi.
He meets me on the sidewalk. "Last chance to turn around."
“I can’t.”
“Okay, but let me do the talking. You're here to show good faith, nothing more. Don't make any explicit offers,” Voss says. “I’ll check if he’s wearing a wire.”
I nod and we start toward Williams’s porch. His house is modest. A small ranch with blue shutters, a cracked driveway, and a lawn that needs mowing. Not what I expected for someone who'd been taking bribes for years. Either he was smart enough to live below his means, or he'd already spent the money.
We walk to the faded blue door. I knock.
Williams answers wearing sweatpants and a University of Kentucky t-shirt. He looks older than his sixty-two years. Tired. Scared. There are dark circles hollowing out the space beneath his eyes. An ankle monitor bulges under his left pant leg.
“Figured it’d be a Blackstone.” He steps back. "Come in."
The living room is small, cluttered with old furniture and framed photos of grandkids. A TV plays quietly in the corner. Ironically, some crime show. He mutes it.
"Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"
"We're fine," Voss says.
"Right. Of course." Williams sits in a worn armchair, gesturing to the couch. "I appreciate you both coming."
I remain standing. "Let's not pretend this is a social call, Williams. You wanted me here. I'm here. What do you want?"
He studies me for a long moment. "Your father and I had an arrangement. For four years, I looked the other way. Made sure the right permits got approved, the right inspections got delayed. He paid me well for it."
"I'm aware."
