Ihate country clubs. Full of pompous fools who care more about being seen, and who they can see, than anything else. People with more money than sense.
Blending in is becoming more and more difficult, as I am forced to step in and take control of the other side of my life. Stupid, useless children. I should have remarried and tried again once my wife passed, and I began to realize how inferior her children were. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that.
Sitting on the veranda of the country club’s restaurant, I put on my best “election winning” façade.
“I’m sure you’re tired of hearing this,” Madeline Wescott says gently. “But how are you doing, Senator?”
“Seán, please. There’s no need to be so formal, especially when we’re here as friends. And I am…okay. I don’t know if onecan ever fully be good again once they’ve lost not one, but both of their children in such a short period of time.”
Madeline makes a sympathetic noise, and though she tries to show the correct expression, it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I can’t even imagine. I am so sorry. We have a son…” She glances at her husband, who seems to be more focused on his drink than our conversation. “And while we don’t always see eye to eye with him, I don’t know what I would do should we lose him.”
“Yes, I remember. A doctor, if I recall? We only met once, at the children’s charity ball a few months ago.”
Madeline smiles. “Yes, that’s our Ashby. So talented. Did we tell you he’s a private doctor? He gets paid very well for what is essentially no work, as I have a hard time believing a businessman like his boss gets into trouble often.”
The pride and arrogance in Madeline’s voice, not about her son himself, but his position, tells me a lot about their dynamic.
I know both my children would have tried to talk me out of this course of action. Hell, Lachlan tried, but…if there’s one thing that’s proven to work time and time again, it's that family, no matter the type, is the downfall of theCouncil.
“You must be very proud.”
“We are.” Madeline’s features soften a little. “We’re also honored you would reach out in this harrowing time. If there’s anything we can do, anything at all.”
Shrugging, I look down at the table, playing my part particularly well. “Just being a friend is enough. I do not like being home, it is too…empty.”
“What about your daughter’s fiancé? Are you still in touch? I know you did that press conference together…” Madeline trails off.
“We still speak occasionally, but Lachlan is grieving in his own way. And…he doesn’t want to be too involved in findingmy daughter’s killer. Not that I blame him, the whole thing is traumatic.”
“I hope they fry them,” Arthur Wescott says, looking up from his drink long enough to give his opinion. “People like that, they shouldn’t be free, walking around us regular folk.”
“Unfortunately, this state doesn’t have the death penalty”—at least, not the legal kind—“but I completely agree.”
Arthur makes a disgruntled noise. “Well, are you at least putting pressure on law enforcement? Lord knows they waste our tax dollars by dragging their feet.”
“Of course. I have connections. I very much believe in eradicating criminals in order to make our world a better place. Some don’t agree, and they tried to teach me a lesson. Though, they miscalculated. If making it personal was supposed to get me to back down…” I have to temper my smile, not wanting to scare my lunch guests. “They have found I don’t bend to others easily.”
“Good. Fight fire with fire, Senator. I can appreciate that.” Arthur smiles as if he is the type to actually back up his words, but his beliefs make it easy to use him.
“I don’t think that’s appropriate table talk,” Madeline huffs.
“It’s his right as a father and a politician,” Arthur argues.
Sitting back in my seat, I watch them quietly bicker. Picking up my drink, I sip at it, rearranging my plans as I realize it will take far less effort on my part to get them where I need them to be. Really, I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect setup.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out, scowling when I see the number on the screen. “Excuse me, I need to take this.”
Moving to the end of the veranda, where there’s a bit of privacy, I take the call. “I’m in the middle of something, this better be important.”
Sebastian Riley doesn’t mince his words.“The video is gone.”
My spine straightens as dread fills my stomach. “What do you mean gone?” I hiss.
“I mean, I have both officers and a set of agents on deck to visit the O’Connel house, to speak to Emilio, but the evidence we had is gone.”
“That isn’t possible…”
“No shit. It shouldn’t be possible, and yet here we are. There’s no trace of the video. I had my contact in cybercrimes scour the databases, and try to trace the secured file you sent, but there is no trace that the video of Emilio torturing Roman ever existed.”
