Page 104 of Crown of Lies

Atlas nods. “Matches the info we dug up.”

We approach the front door, the Princes positioning themselves protectively around me. Killian’s hand hovers near his waistband, ready for trouble. I take a deep breath and knock.

Footsteps shuffle inside. The door creaks open, revealing a man who looks a bit older than my dad. His face is weathered, with deep lines etched around his eyes. Shaggy salt-and-pepper hair falls across his forehead, and I catch glimpses of faded tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves.

“Can I help you?” His voice is gruff but not unfriendly.

I clear my throat. “Mr. Pearce? Ambrose Pearce?”

He nods slowly, eyes darting between us. “That’s me. Who’s asking?”

He’s obviously wary, and for good reason. There’s only one of him and there are four of us—and honestly? We look more intimidating than he does.

That doesn’t mean he’s just some harmless old man though. You don’t reach old age in this life without being fucking dangerous.

“I was hoping to ask you about someone you might have known in prison. Casey Kent?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Casey? Yeah, we shared a cell for a while.” He pauses, studying my face more intently before his eyes widen with sudden recognition. “Wait a minute. You’re his niece, aren’t you?”

I nod, unable to stop the slight smile from creeping across my face.

Ambrose’s features soften. “Well, I’ll be damned. I knew he had a brother with a daughter on the outside, and I can see the resemblance between the two of you.” The tension in his shoulders eases, and he leans against the doorframe. “So, what brings you all the way out here?”

“I have some questions about my uncle,” I say, fidgeting with the hem of my jacket. “Things I need to understand.”

He nods slowly, his eyes flicking between me and the Princes. After a moment’s hesitation, he steps back, opening the door wider. “Well, come on in then. You and your… friends.” He gestures to the living room. “Might as well get comfortable if we’re gonna talk about Casey.”

I step inside, the men following close behind. The living room is sparsely furnished, with an armchair and a worn couch, a rickety coffee table, and a small TV in the corner. The walls are bare except for a faded calendar and a few yellowed photographs.

Ambrose grunts, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “You’ll have to forgive me. Haven’t had much company since I got out of jail.”

“It’s fine,” I brush off his apology, my eyes scanning the room. “Really.”

As Ambrose settles into the chair, I take a second to study him. His weathered face, the way he holds himself—it all reminds me of Uncle Casey.

I sit down on the worn couch, with the men arranging themselves around me. Ambrose leans back in his chair, his eyes distant as if lost in memories.

“So, you and my uncle were cellmates?” I ask, just to break the silence.

Ambrose nods, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “For a while, yeah. Casey was… well, he was something else.”

As he speaks, I notice a few other details. The deep lines etched into his face, the way his shoulders slump slightly—it’s clear that prison has taken its toll. I feel a pang in my chest as I imagine Uncle Casey aging in the same way, worn down by the years behind bars.

If he’d lived to get out, would he have looked like this? The thought makes me grimace.

“You okay, kid?” Ambrose asks, catching my expression.

I nod quickly. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

He gives me a knowing look. “About Casey, I bet. He was always talking about getting out, you know. Had big plans.”

I lean forward, intrigued. “What kind of plans?”

Ambrose chuckles, but it’s a hollow sound. “Oh, you know. The usual stuff. Getting back into the game, making it big.” He shakes his head. “We all had those dreams in there.”

I think about what little we managed to dig up about Ambrose before coming here. He was just starting to make waves in the Detroit underground when he got locked up. And now…

Now he just looks tired. The fire that must have driven him seems to have burned out, leaving behind a man who’s seen too much and lost even more.

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