"Mr. Nash," I said, soft but clear.
He turned, squinting against the morning sun. "Yes?"
I held out the envelope. "For you. From a concerned party."
He hesitated. "Who are you?"
"Just someone who hates to see injustice."
He stared as if trying to see what was under the surgical mask. "If you are?—"
"I don't need anything from you," I cut him off. "Except for looking inside this envelope."
Tense seconds ticked by. Finally, he gingerly took it and opened it. His eyes moved fast over the first page. His hand jerked, a tic of outrage. "What is this?"
"Proof." I kept my voice even. "You and your sister's trust fund will be emptied, piece by piece, over the next few months if you don't take action right now. Ronan Wick is the siphon. Your grandfather has been deceived."
He flipped the page. His mouth trembled.
I looked down, checked my phone. "If you want to stop him, you need to act now. I suggest to get the authorities involved before it's too late. He'll be at the Wildhaven. Industry mixer, main ballroom. Police will listen if you're the first to call. Otherwise, more people will get hurt." I slipped the dementia patient info there too, knowing that it will have the effect on Orson Nash. From what Viper and I dug up on the family, they were alldecent, especially the grandchildren. Money didn't spoil everyone. Only the ones who already had evil in their hearts.
Nash stared at me. The fury on his face wasn't like the men I was used to. This was older, deeper, almost pure. "Why are you doing this?"
I shrugged. "The world doesn't fix itself. We are the ones who fix it."
His jaw was tight. He just continued staring at me without saying anything.
I gave him a one-finger salute and walked away, heading around the side of the building, into the service alley. There were no cameras there—I'd checked. Twice. At the far end, I peeled off the gloves and mask, dumped them in a trash can, and replaced the jacket with a hoody from my backpack stashed behind the dumpster.
My job here was done. I just hoped Orson Nash wouldn't chicken out at the last minute and finish the target for me.
7 kimmy
A man in a blazer checked my name against a list, then peeled the heavy glass door open. Inside, the reception was already chaos—laughter bouncing off the marble, the mechanical hum of a hundred conversations, the sound of my own heels on polished tile.
It was too bright at first in the lobby, then too dark in the corridor. The event planners must have spent a year on the lighting design—bands of gold running along the walls of the reception, shadow pools in every corner, even the air tasted expensive.
First thing I did was check the side pocket of my purse for pepper spray. Still there, the red safety tab unbroken.
I exhaled and joined the flow.
In the main ballroom, the ceiling was three stories high, its chandelier a galaxy of broken glass and light. Every guest was taller, shinier, or richer than I could remember and I remembered a lot of them from my days at Evernight Events. I hoped they didn't remember me.
I headed straight for the Lark & Lark table to say hello to Solange. She was one of our admin and she'd arrived earlier to prepare for the event. She was on her phone now, engaged in what looked like a texting war.
"How is it going?" I asked, scanning the table. The setup was just as Geneva described: business cards, promo fliers, a bowl of branded chocolates.
"Fine," Solange replied, lifting her head from the screen. "Nice to meet you in person."
"Same."
We exchanged polite smiles.
"Do you mind watching over the table for a little while?" I asked. "I'm going to mingle for a few minutes and find those investors Geneva wants me to schmooze."
"Knock yourself out," Solange chirped. "It's not like I have anywhere else to be. I have to break this down anyway after the event."
I weaved through the crowd and sidled up to the drink station to order a club soda. Taking an Uber here instead of driving was the right decision. The jitters were real.
