Page 95 of Sinful Bride

“Really? That surprises me.” I play it casual just like him, leaning against the side of my Charger. “You’ve known them for… how long? At least a year, I’d guess.”

Smithson blinks at me. “I don’t?—”

“I’ve always wondered how that worked out. Are you allowed to investigate their son-in-law? I thought there was some sort of conflict of interest in that.”

A few of his fellow agents glance at him. I’m going to guess that yes, investigating the in-laws of friends crosses a few lines in their field.

He laughs it off like I’m being ridiculous. “There’s no conflict of interest. I barely know those people.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You’ve been doing so many favors for them, like a good friend would.”

Smithson scowls at me. One of his hands hovers near his gun, but I don’t think he’ll use it. He’s not that dumb.

“I only know them through the information Stewart Hamish has been giving us,” he snaps. “About you, your company, your ‘family business’—”

“Wait. Your intel is coming from a disgraced and disgruntled former employee?”

More agents glance at each other, then at their Special Agent-in-Command. They’re not making any moves, but I can see their faith in him begin to waver.

I mean, I knew all this already. I just wanted to see if his fellow agents—the ones under his command—knew about this. Pity that they didn’t.

I’m more than happy to keep them informed.

“Let me get this straight.” I hold up a hand just for dramatic effect. “You’ve been coming after me, raiding my offices and invading my family life and having your agents loom over my wife and infant daughter to the point where they can’t even go outside… because a man who committed corporate espionage said he didn’t like me very much?”

More glances. A few step back, like physical distance between them and this rat will save their own hides.

I can’t help it—I laugh. “Tell me, Special Agent: what the hell did he have to say?”

Smithson is fuming, but trying not to showcase just how bothered he really is. He shoves his clenching fists back into his pockets. “There were no such records of any lawsuit or charges of ‘corporate espionage,’ as you claim.”

“No. Because unlike you, I don’t make a move until I have all the evidence. All the facts.”

Which is mostly true, now that I think about it.

But overlooking the fact that Stewart Hamish had two daughters is probably the best thing that could have happened to me.

“I’m happy to fill you in,” I offer cheerfully. “Let’s see. When my father, the founder and first CEO of Chekhov International, got himself killed by some mistress’s husband, Stewart Hamish didn’t do a damn thing to protect the company from the fallout. And when the man who murdered my father came after us, he bribed Hamish for insider information and used all the stolen data to temporarily take over the corporation.”

“You should have reported it. Turned him over.”

“I did!”

The part of me that’s been simmering for a decade comes to the surface in a single moment of roaring, untethered rage. It’s the Pasha who scrambled to seek justice, who was young and barely an adult and desperate to save his mother and siblings from utter ruin.

It’s the part of me that was laughed at and turned away by the very government now surrounding me with guns half-holstered and suspicious glances tossing around.

Then I rein it in.

Anger will do me no good here.

“I’m surprised, Agent Smithson. Didn’t any of this come up when you ran a background check on Mr. Hamish? The dismissed accusations, the filed paperwork your people neglected to investigate…?”

“No such records?—”

“I was the one who filed them,” I snarl. “So I can assure you, they exist.”

I’ve made him look bad in front of his associates. Irresponsible, if not incompetent. Whoever was still blindly loyal to him five minutes ago has since stepped back.

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