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“There's nothing else connecting her to him?”

“Nothing concrete yet.”

I turn from the window.

I'm in the penthouse office of one of fifteen Knight Global buildings scattered across the country.

This one sits just outside Consequence, North Carolina.

Consequence.

Christ.

That fucking name.

I thought it was amusing when I first decided to base the Rovers here.

Now?

Not so much.

Everything has consequences.

Every choice.

Every risk.

Every beautiful investigative journalist you invite to live in your house for thirty days because you want to know what the hell she's doing digging into your family.

The irony isn't lost on me.

“Keep going.”

“We've already gone back more than a decade.”

“Go back farther.”

A pause.

“On Hawthorne?”

“On everyone she's spoken to recently. Every source connected to the Knight family. Anyone who's requested information on my grandfather. Cross-reference names against his companies, foundations, properties, charitable organizations, political contacts, travel. Everything.”

“That's a wide net.”

“Then cast a wide fucking net.”

“Yes, sir.”

I end the call and toss my phone onto the desk.

Maybe I'm overreacting.

It's possible.

Unlikely, but possible.

The problem is Garrison Knight knew a lot of people.