Grant is standing by the door. His arms are crossed. He hasn't drawn his weapon, because he doesn't need to. His physical presence alone is enough to keep Russo glued to the mattress.
"I don't know what you want from me, Mr. Vance," Russo says. His voice shakes, but he is trying very hard to sound like a professional. "I run a legitimate background check service. I was hired by a client to verify the financial history of an individual. That’s not a crime."
"It isn't," I agree smoothly.
I take a step forward. Russo’s shoulders tense, his eyes darting toward the door, calculating the distance between himself and Grant. He realizes immediately that the math is not in his favor.
"The crime, Russo, is not the investigation," I continue, my voice dropping to a low, quiet register. "The crime is the fact that you accepted a contract from Simon Vance to investigate my fiancée."
Russo swallows hard. His Adam's apple bobs against his collar. "Client confidentiality prevents me from confirming who hired me."
"I am not asking for confirmation. I am stating a fact." I pull my right hand from my pocket and gesture vaguely toward the laptop on the desk. "You’ve been digging into Audrey Jennings for six hours. What did you find?"
"Nothing." Russo raises his hands defensively. "I swear. I ran her credit history, her tax returns, her previous employment. She’s clean. She doesn't have any offshore accounts. She doesn't have a criminal record. She’s exactly who she says she is."
"And her family?"
Russo hesitates. It’s a tiny, microscopic pause, but in my line of work, a pause is as loud as a confession.
"I ran a trace on her mother," Russo admits, his voice dropping. "Barbara Jennings. She has a history of severe debt. Multiple bankruptcies in the late nineties. A few outstanding collections from medical bills."
A cold, absolute stillness settles over my chest.
Audrey never mentioned her mother. She never mentioned the debt. She mentioned the business she built and the life Simon stole, but she kept the foundation of her past completely hidden.
Simon knows this. He knows she spent her life trying to outrun poverty, and he hired this man to drag it out into the light. He wants to leak the medical bills to the press. He wants to paint Audrey as a desperate woman from a broken home, using the Vance family for a payout.
It is a pathetic, cowardly strategy.
"Did you send the file to Simon?" I ask.
"No." Russo shakes his head quickly. "I haven't compiled the report yet. I was going to send it this evening."
"You are not going to send it this evening." I walk over to the desk. I don't look at Russo. I look at the laptop screen. I reach out, close the lid, and pick the machine up.
"Hey, wait," Russo starts to stand up, but Grant shifts his weight, and Russo immediately sits back down. "That’s my property. You can't just take that."
"I am buying it from you," I say, turning back to him.
I reach into my jacket, pull out a thick envelope of cash, and toss it onto the bed. It lands next to Russo’s leg with a heavy thud.
"There is twenty thousand dollars in that envelope," I tell him. "It covers the cost of the hardware, the time you spent on the investigation, and your silence. You will delete any backups you have on your external servers. You will call Simon Vance, and you will tell him that Audrey Jennings is a ghost and you found absolutely nothing."
Russo looks at the envelope. Greed wars with fear in his eyes, but the fear is winning.
"If Simon finds out I lied to him—"
"If Simon finds out, he will fire you," I interrupt, my voice turning to ice. "If I find out you kept a single piece of paper with Audrey’s name on it, I will not fire you. I will erase you. I will freeze your bank accounts, I will seize your assets, and I will make sure you cannot rent a car in this city without my permission. Do you understand me?"
Russo stares at me. He knows my reputation. He knows I am not Simon.
"I understand," he whispers, picking up the envelope.
"Good."
I tuck the laptop under my arm and turn toward the door. The operation was clean. Fast. No violence required, just the application of overwhelming leverage.
I am halfway to the door when Grant’s earpiece crackles.
