Page 28 of Freedom’s Inferno

“They moved back to the UK after my father retired,” I said after a pause. “They wanted something quieter. My mom’s from there originally.” I exhaled, glancing at the mess of papers between us. “If we ever get out of this mess… I’d like to join them.”

Something softened in his face. Something human, fleeting, gone almost as soon as it appeared. Mentally, I shoved him back where he belonged: on the other side of the line. We slipped back into our previous rhythm, scanning accounts while frustration simmered between us.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I muttered, flipping through another stack of records. “There are gaps. Whole sections that don’t line up.”

He didn’t look up. “You’re reading it wrong.”

I shot him a glare. “I know how to read, thanks. Look, these entries have been redacted, or something’s been moved. Half the wire transfers aren’t accounted for. The records are incomplete.”

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that Richard kept things offline,” I said, tapping the papers. “He obviously had something to hide. If he didn’t trust the cloud, that means he hid a physical ledger somewhere.”

He arched a brow, weary suspicion in his voice. “And where do you think he’d hide something like that?”

I met his gaze, a hollow sort of certainty settling in my chest. “At Blackwell Sterling. In his office.”

The words hung there, heavy and dangerous.

I glanced toward the window. The black sedan hadn’t been there this morning, but that didn’t mean nobody was watching. My skin prickled at the thought. Too much time spent cooped up in this house, with Charlie pacing like a caged wolf and me pretending I wasn’t fraying at the seams, had turned the walls into a pressure cooker. Even the wallpaper pressed in, heavy with patterns that never ended.

“And if Costa’s people are already watching this house, they’re watching the office too,” I added.

“They’re not going to kill us, Lana.” Charlie’s voice was flat, matter of fact. “They want their money. They’re just making sure we’re getting it.”

I blinked at him. “Really? Because it sure seemed like one of them had other ideas…”

He tapped his pen against the table. “We’re still breathing because we’re useful."

“And the moment we stop being useful?”

He held my gaze for a beat. “I know a guy. But making that call is a last resort.”

Something in his tone warned me not to ask any questions on that particular subject.

I gathered the papers into a neat stack, trying to calm the tremor in my fingers. “We’ll have to go,” I said, surprised at how calm my voice sounded. “We need to see if the ledger’s there.”

Charlie didn’t answer right away. He sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. In the dim light his scarred forearm looked like marble veined with purple.

“If you hadn’t killed him, we wouldn’t be sitting here playing detective in the first place.”

Indignation heated my cheeks. I resented Richard, Costa, this entire house, and Charlie’s relentless pessimism. “You think I don’t know that?” I snapped. “And if you’d been under his thumb for years like I was, you would’ve done the same.”

Something flashed in his eyes at my tone. He looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. Instead he rubbed at the back of his neck, looking suddenly, almost boyishly tired.

“I’m not running anymore,” I said, softer now. “If something at Blackwell Sterling proves where that money went, I’m going to find it.”

His eyes met mine. For a heartbeat, neither of us blinked.

Somewhere outside, a car door slammed. My head snapped toward the window; only shadows met me.

Charlie rose slowly from his chair. “Just your neighbor…” he said, rubbing his sternum. He let out a long breath, pacing once before looking back at me. “Fine. We’ll go to Blackwell Sterling, but after that, we’ll find somewhere else to stay.”

I frowned. “You think they’ll come here?”

“I think they already have,” he said, motioning toward the window. “You said it yourself—the car across the street, the light in the backyard. Costa’s not hiding the fact that he’s watching, and I don’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction of staying put.”

He raked a hand through his hair, the motion slow, thoughtful. “We’re both running on empty. Neither of us has slept more than a couple hours. If we keep going like this, we’re going to make mistakes, and mistakes will get us killed.”