Page 25 of Threaded Lies

“Huh. Stupid move if you ask me.”

“Agreed, but mutual blackmail is a powerful thing.”

“True.” He pauses and I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking. Same goes for us.

I let the silence stretch and my unspoken threat scream across it. Don’t get any fucking ideas.

“When will you know the time is right?” Bob asks.

It’s a question I’ve asked myself more times than I care to count. A question I might have waffled some on with Rowan threaded through the day-to-day of my life. Not anymore.

I’ve seen the error of my ways.

“When? When it will ruin them completely.” When the company is pieced apart and sold out from under them. When all the money is gone and their parents realize they’ve fucked them, their financial security, and their social status right out from under them. When they’re the fucking laughingstocks in this town with nothing left to offer anybody.

When they act out of desperation like I no doubt am certain they will.

“I know it seems I’m only after Rothschild,” I say and glance over my shoulder to where Chadwick still stands, “but this is a zero-sum game for both.”

“And one is the conduit for the other.”

“Correct. It might be Rhett front and center, but make no mistake, Bob, Chadwick is sighted as well.”

“I never doubted it. So I’ll contact their estate agent. Tell them the deal might be back on the table.”

“Yes.”

“And while Rhett’s campaign is as low-key as can be—”

“Because he’s already bought himself the seat,” I say.

“It doesn’t hurt to have a friend I know over at the Federal Election Commission threaten an audit of his campaign finances. Those pesky laws can be so tricky to understand and follow.”

“Might trigger a panic.” Perfect.

“Just might.” Bob laughs. “And with Chadwick being the campaign finance manager and all, it might just add a bit of a damper on that wedding being planned.”

“Did I ever tell you how much I like you, Bob?”

“No, but my paycheck shows you do.”

“At least we speak the same love language.”

“We do in fact.”

“Oh, hey.” I glance down to my notepad with the word Monarch scribbled on it and circled over and over. “Does the word Monarch mean anything to you?”

“No. Why?”

“Monarch,” Chad spits out.

“Monarch?” I ask. The word and the way he said it gives me pause.

“The reason behind it all.” He glances over his shoulder to where Rhett should be coming any second.

“Behind what all?”

“Rhett. His carte blanche.”