“No.” I shrugged off my backpack, just over today and in no mood to dissect what’d happened. All I wanted was to hear from Luke and make sure he was okay. His brief “everything’s fine” text sent a few hours earlier wasn’t that reassuring. “Not really.”
Edwardo held my gaze for a second longer before nodding once and stepping aside so I could pass. The exchange ended there, but the shift in him lingered.
Dinner began normally enough. Mom talked about a client meeting that had run long as she’d returned to work, against Edwardo’s protests. I described a few mundane details from the school day without mentioning Charles Dunn.
Edwardo’s phone rang halfway through the meal. He glanced at the screen, pushed his chair back, and stepped outside to answer it.
Through the kitchen window, I watched him pace slowly across the porch, his voice low enough that I couldn’t hear what he was saying.
Mom followed his movement with her eyes. Her fork hovered halfway to her mouth.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
She lowered the utensil slowly. “I’m not sure.”
Edwardo ended the call a few seconds later and came back inside. “Just work,” he explained easily as he reclaimed his seat.
The explanation sounded rehearsed. Ten minutes later, his phone rang again. This time, he didn’t bother checking the screen before stepping outside.
Mom and I exchanged a glance as the door closed behind him. “You believe that?” I asked quietly.
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I believe Edwardo is trying not to worry us.”
Which meant there was something to worry about.
The call lasted longer this time. When he returned, he resumed eating as if nothing had happened. But I noticed the way his attention drifted toward the windows every few minutes.
Later that evening, I saw the unfamiliar car. A dark sedan rolled slowly past the house before continuing down the street. It didn’t stop, but the driver’s pace was slow enough to draw attention. Ten minutes later, another vehicle passed in the same direction. Different car. Same slow speed.
I stood at the front window, watching the taillights disappear around the corner.
Edwardo stepped onto the porch moments later. He leaned casually against the railing, but his gaze moved carefully along the street before he turned and went back inside. The tension in the house increased after that.
Mom stood at the counter, sorting through the mail while Edwardo rinsed dishes beside her when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and stilled.
Edwardo noticed immediately. “Who is it?”
“Nick,” she said, already answering.
My stomach twisted.
She turned slightly away but not enough to block us out. “Adriana.” A pause. Her posture shifted—subtle, but there. “I see.”
Edwardo straightened beside her.
“When?” she asked. Another pause. “No, I understand.” Silence stretched. “All right. Send me the details.”
She ended the call slowly, her grip tightening briefly around the phone before she set it down on the counter.
“What is it?” I asked.
Her eyes flicked to Edwardo before landing on me. “It’s a request for a meeting.”
“About what?”
“Work I did several years ago,” she said carefully. “The FBI wants clarification about corporate records connected to Dunn Industries and King Enterprises.”
Edwardo’s expression hardened slightly. “That was fast.”
