“Well,” he begins, closing the box and setting it carefully aside. “This doesn’t look good for you, now, does it?”
Killian’s eyes narrow. “Don’t bullshit. You’re smart enough to know this wasn’t us, and we’re smart enough to realize it. We need to find out who’s doing this.”
Daniel gives a loose shrug. “My people are clean as a whistle.”
Tristian snorts derisively. “No one who works for you is clean.”
“And what does that say about you?” Daniel asks, swinging his gaze to Tristian.
“It says that I’m here to protect the Mercers’ interest in South Side,” he replies, voice sharp in an icy, deliberate way. “Maybe you’ve forgotten why my father put me here, but I haven’t.”
Daniel scoffs. “When’s the last time you even—”
Tristian’s back snaps straight. “Your stake in Mercer holdings is dwindling, but you still have a firm grip in the commodities. You take a bigger cut of the illegal import fees than you have any right to; you’ve managed to distract the feds with a pointless runaround on migrant workers near the docks; and your brand new whorehouse was barely breaking even until a few weeks ago.” It’s been a while since I’ve seen Tristian like this—cold and cutting—but he’s in fine form now, shooting Killian’s father a menacing grin. “Don’t be fooled by the fact Killian is a brother to me. I have another father, and I report everything I see directly to him. Always have, always will.”
Daniel has nothing to say to that. There are only a few people in this town more powerful than him, and Tristian’s dad is one of them. Instead, he changes tacks. “If you saw everything and weren’t so busy thinking with your dicks, you could see what’s right in front of you. You’re not nearly as smart as you think.”
My eyes narrow. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Someone is trying to split apart our happy family.” Daniel says the words like they’re sharp as knives. “This person has ties to us both, grudges against all of us, and access to everything.” He waits a beat, looking between us. “Unbelievable. You really are stunted little idiots, aren’t you?”
“I’m tired,” Killian says, voice clipped, but even. “I’m tired and I’m busy, and I don’t have time for your bullshit, dad. Spit it the fuck out.”
Daniel does exactly that. “It’s the girl.”
Killian responds instantly. “Not possible.”
“No? Where was she when this little package was delivered?” he asks, flinging the box down the desk. “Where was she the night Vivienne was killed? Not in your house.”
“And how can you possibly know that?” I dryly wonder.
But pretense is dropping like flies around here. I know it is, because Daniel easily answers, “I checked your camera feed. And don’t give me those looks. It’s never been a secret that I have access to the Lords’ property. It’s not my fault you all assumed I wouldn’t bother.”
If that’s true, then there’s no telling the things he’s seen. The things he’s heard. The things he knows.
“That just swings it all back around to you,” Tristian points out, twirling a finger.
Daniel gives him a long, incredulous look. “Oh, her pussy must really be something. She’s actually got the three of you fooled, doesn’t she?” Casually, he retrieves a folder from his desk, flinging it open. “Distribution of sexual images of a minor.” He holds up a paper, text messages, photos of Story when she was younger stapled to the side. Sweet Cherry. “Grand theft auto.” He holds up another paper, a grainy image of Story attached. “Breaking and entering. Grand larceny. Destruction of property. Felony identity theft…” He flips through them, page after page. These must have happened when she was in Colorado. “This one is my favorite,” he says, holding up a bland-looking autopsy photo of Ugly Nick’s corpse. “Murder.”
“It’s not Story,” Killian snaps. “And the longer you focus on her, the more at risk you’re making all of us. Here are the facts.” He stalks forward to press his hands flat on the desk, pitching forward with a dark expression. “Someone got to Ugly Nick behind your back. Someone killed Vivienne. Look in your ranks: your suppliers, your contractors, your lawyers, one of your whores, someone. This is your mistake, bleeding over into our life!”