“You’re right, there could’ve been. But my gut told me to keep digging. Found his birth certificate.” He nods toward the folder. “Open the file.”
I do; on the top is a birth certificate. But the name listed on it is not Sean. “Kyle Denning.”
He nods. “Her brother’s name is Kyle, not Sean. So, naturally, I took this as a sign I was on the right track.”
I say nothing, letting him go on.
“I questioned why she lied. I’ll save you the trouble. Flip to page five and you’ll see why.”
The first few pages are high school and college transcripts. He graduated with a criminal justice degree, which catches my eye.
When I reach the fifth page, I nearly crush the folder in my hands.
Kyle Denning. Detective. Chicago Police Department. Intelligence Unit.
For a moment, the rest of the world fades. I flip one page, then another. Academy records, commendations. Notes from internal reviews. There’s a photograph of Kyle looking fresh out of the academy clipped neatly onto a corner of one of the pages.
“How certain?” It’s a foolish question. All the evidence I need is in my hands. But I’m hoping there’s still some way it’s not true.
“One-hundred percent.”
I close the file and toss it onto my desk.
Her brother is a cop. And she never told me. Not only that, but he’s in the Intelligence Unit.The detective who stopped me on the street a few weeks back was Intelligence.
It can’t be a coincidence.
The implications unfurl in my mind. I’ve built my exit from the criminal underworld slowly, brick by brick. This IPO is how I’m going to keep Sasha safe. I’ll make the Barinov name one of legitimacy, raise my son in a world where he’ll never have to fear for his life.
I drum my fingers on the top of the desk, giving the matter some serious thought. Andrei says nothing, his hands clasped behind his head, almost as if he’s waiting for me to order him to fire her.
Should I? On the surface, it seems the most prudent move. A direct familial connection to law enforcement doesn’t mean direct damage. Appearance alone is enough. If my investors discover that my new nanny is the sister of a CPD cop who might very well be looking into my affairs, it’d be enough to raise serious doubt.
I can imagine the whispers in compliance meetings, the suspicion. My investors would ask for more assurances, more time. Time I do not have.
This could tank the IPO.
“Then there’s Garin,” Andrei says, breaking the silence.
“What about him,” I snarl.
“He knows something. I’m sure of it. It might not be this. But he’s circling.”
My mind goes back to Detective Max Russo, the eager cop with the questions and the “casual” mention of that drive-by shooting. The line is starting to take shape. Max might’ve gone too far, making it clear that the CPD is looking into me, trying to put something together.
And Amalie’s brother could very well be working behind the scenes to make it happen.
I press my fingers to my temple.
“She knows something,” Andrei says.
“Indeed,” I say, slipping into Russian. “But if he’s working in intelligence he’s almost certainly keeping her out of the loop for her own safety. It’s unlikely she knows anything beyond surface information.”
“Perhaps.” Andrei leaves the word and all of its ambiguity hanging in the air.
So much can be filed under that one word.
“I’ve been keeping a close eye on her,” he says. “There’s no indication she’s collecting information, let alone sharing it.”
