He fought it. He still had a chance to turn this around, to find proof that he wasn't involved in the swap. He had a gut feeling that he was missing something, a crucial piece.
Jerico hesitated for a good minute before dialing Ronan's number. He wasn't sure Ronan would answer. He'd been released on bail, but who knew what the conditions were?
He set the phone on speaker and waited.
Once, twice, then a click and a static-riddled breath.
"Jerico?" Wick's voice was less voice, more throat. "Been a long time."
"You're home?"
"My lawyer made sure. The indictment is bullshit. It'll fall apart." Wick forced a laugh that had the texture of an ulcer. "How have you been?"
"I'm glad you made bail," Jerico said.
"You know Don Paisley is a rabid dog and a genius."
Jerico, of course, knew. He'd referred Don himself.
"Anyway, what's this about?" Ronan asked.
"You tell me," Jerico said. "I assume you've been following the coverage of my predicament."
"The fake Picasso?" Ronan guessed right away.
"Someone replaced the original with a forgery."
"Why would someone do that?"
"Maybe the same reason they went after you."
"You're right, Orson Nash is too dumb to do this on his own," Ronan mused. "He would have never obtained any of the documents without external help. Whoever did this knew my moves, down to the decimal point. They even knew the offshore. That's not luck. That's some tight hacker job."
Jerico let the silence simmer. He'd been sitting on similar thoughts for a few days now. He wasn't certain whether his own theory about being targeted was correct, but he didn't believe in coincidences. On the wall behind him hung a modernist art piece—charcoal lines over copper leaf. It had cost more than most cars. Jerico realized that if the dominoes kept falling,he'd be hocking the artwork he'd been collecting for years for lawyer fees.
"So you're saying someone is targeting us?" Jerico asked.
"It seems that way," Ronan confirmed. "We both have a streak of bad luck? Not likely."
Jerico waited.
Eventually Ronan supplied, "Remember that blondie from a few years back we banged at Grabler's penthouse party?"
Jerico had gone through hundreds of women in the past ten years. Some jumped his dick and some played hard to get. A couple of them even tried to accuse him of assault after they realized he'd never date them. Thankfully, he had enough money and connections to put out the fires as they came in.
"Which girl?" Jerico wracked his brain for the right memories.
"That dumb bitch from three years ago who went to the cops."
Kimberly Holt.
He remembered her alright. She was one of those who felt offended. She'd taken photos of herself too. Even did a goddamn rape kit. She was fucking persistent. Burying the case and removing all mention of it from the Internet was the kind of stress no one needed. Especially since Caius had to get involved. Bitch created more problems than the rest.
"Why are you bringing it up?" Jerico asked, dumbfounded at Ronan's tendency to rehash their past escapades even at the most inconvenient of times. "What about her?"
"She was at the event the night I was arrested."
Jerico's mouth went dry."Are you sure?"
