Page 83 of Volatile Vice

“What the hell was that about?” I ask.

He scoffs. “What? About Savannah?”

“Of course not. I knowexactlywhat that was about. I know how you feel about Savannah. You think of her as a second-class citizen, just the way you think of your own daughter. The woman who, by the way, gave you three grandchildren.”

He exhales sharply out of his nose. “That’s debatable.”

I cock my head. Did he just say what I think he said?

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He smirks. “Read into it whatever you want, Vincent.”

“I can’t say anything about myself, but I remember my mother being pregnant with Mikey and Savannah. I remember touching her belly and feeling the baby’s kick. They are your grandchildren, Grandfather.”

His face remains stoic. “Yes, they are.”

What the hell is he trying to say?

I have no idea. But Idoknow what I need to get done.

“You need to stop texting Raven Bellamy.”

“You are not in any position to tell me what to do.”

I raise an eyebrow. “At least you’re not denying it.”

“Is that what you want? Fine. I haven’t been texting Raven Bellamy.” He scowls. “Why would I bother with Raven Bellamy? She’s of no consequence to me at all.”

I shake my head slowly. “That’s where you’re wrong. You know she means something to me, and you’re not one to let any kind of potential leverage pass you by.”

“She’s better off if she stays the hell away from you, Vincent.”

“Well, for once we agree on something.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “Just leave her alone. I’ve ended it. All I want is for her to be safe.”

“And she will be,” he says, “as long as she doesn’t interfere in things.”

“She hasn’t interfered in—” I stop.

We still don’t know who that Uber driver who told her to invite me over last Friday night was…

Who…

Cogs start to turn in my head. Brick Latham was killed, and… Isn’t it interesting that neither Raven nor her parents were home that night?

Perhaps my grandfather didn’t have anything to do with the Uber thing after all.

Or…

“Did that attorney ever do any work for you?” I ask.

“What attorney?”

“The one whose throat was slit at the Bellamy ranch house Friday night,” I say. “And don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about. We’ve been through this.”

“That attorneycould mean anything, Vincent. I have many attorneys, and why on earth would I ever do business with an attorney who specializes in nonprofit organizations?”

“Why wouldn’t you? Nonprofit organizations are a great way to launder money.”

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