Page 12 of Dirty Legacy

I hug my boss’s wife. She beams at me, and I have to admit, she looks fantastic, like she hasn’t aged a day since we first met ten years ago, back when I was first coming into control of the Maguire clan.

“Declan’s in his study,” she says, leading me into the foyer. “You know the way. I’d stay and chat but⁠—“

“Mom!” A kid’s voice echoes from further in the house. “Where’d you go?”

Casey sighs and smiles at me. “Homework,” she says. “And of course she left it to the last second.”

“You’d better go before Nora revolts. I’ll stop by and say hello to the little terror before I go.”

“She’d love that.” Casey’s smile falters. “Everything’s good, right? I mean, with you?”

“Sure, of course, why wouldn’t it be? You know me.”

“Right, I just mean—“ She looks toward her husband’s study. “Have you spoken with him yet?”

“With Declan?” I frown, not sure where this is going. Casey’s marginally involved in clan business, though I’ve always suspected she knows more than she lets on. “Not for a few weeks. He told me to show up.”

“Right, right, okay.” She lets out a breath. “Typical Declan. I swear, it’s like he forgets…” She trails off.

“Forgets what?”

“Mom! Come on!”

“Sorry, it’s nothing. Don’t worry, alright? It won’t be bad.” She squeezes my arm. “Good luck.”

“Hold on, Casey, what’s—“ But she’s already walking off. I watch her go, confused.

Am I about to get my skull blown off?

I walk toward Declan’s study, mentally going over all the business I’ve done since the last time we spoke. There’s nothing remotely bad or important going on.

My operation has very close ties with the Whelans. They installed me into power back when my cousin was killed during a war in those days. Now I’m something like an extension of their outfit, though with full independent control of my day-to-day dealings.

There’s no bad blood between us. Me and Declan get along fine.

So why did Casey seem worried?

I knock on the office door and let myself inside. It’s the same as always. Declan prefers a conservative space: rich wood, lots of leather, muted grays and blacks. Books on bookshelves, files in filing folders, and a fireplace filled with ash. Everything’s impeccably aligned, dusted, and polished to a shine. The Whelan boss sits behind a big mahogany executive desk hunched over a laptop, tapping the end of a pen against his square chin. He’s got more gray in his black hair, though it’s still thick and luxurious. His bright green eyes meet mine and the pen stops tapping.

“Connor, glad you made it. Come inside, shut the door.”

“How are things, Declan?” Normally, I’d grab a drink, but I decide to settle into a chair across from him instead. Nerves jangle in my guts. Casey’s got me on fucking edge, but there’s nothing wrong. Can’t be.

“Ah, you know. Shit rises up to me, I shove the shit back down, the whole show continues.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair. Declan’s mid-fifties, twenty years older than his wife. She’s closer to my age than to his.

“Sounds like my job.”

“That’s because we aren’t so different.” He closes his laptop lid and gets up. “You want a drink?”

“Always.”

He pours two, which sets me on edge. Normally, I’m the one sipping his good booze. Declan cut back a few years ago. Told me once that his kids made him want to be clear and to live well into his nineties. Always sounded like sentimental bullshit to me.

“Cheers,” I say as he takes the chair beside me. Another big red flag. Declan’s a good boss, but I wouldn’t say we’re friends. He likes to keep his professional relationships professional, and I’ve always appreciated that about him.

“I need to ask you a personal question. Don’t take it the wrong way.” He raps a ring against the glass. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

Angie. Fuck. He knows about Angie. But how the hell would he, and why would it matter if he did? I’m not breaking any rules by fucking her. Except maybe some HR compliance bullshit.