Page 40 of Final Vendetta

I leveled a stare on him, expecting for him to end this line of questioning.

I was wrong again.

“It’s my understanding you met with Alton Sinclair approximately a week before his death.”

“He was interested in managing some of my assets.”

“A few people claimed to have observed a heated exchange between you and Mr. Sinclair at a golf tournament in Pebble Beach a few days before his death.”

I swallowed hard, doing my best to keep my breathing even. “He discovered some confidential information while at my home and used it for illegal trades.”

“And yet you still hired him to manage your investments?” He scrunched his brows.

“I wasn’t aware he’d snooped through my files until he accused me of planting that information. While I allowed him to handle a small percentage of my investments, I wasn’t affected by his illegal activities.”

“A few days after his death, you flew to Atlanta. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Around the same time James Turner was there. And Brian McGuire, a funeral director, went missing.”

“I had a meeting with a startup looking for angel investors.”

Again, it wasn’t a complete lie. Henry had set it up so I’d have a purpose for being there, should any of my actions come to bite me in the ass later.

Like right now.

“Would you like the name and number of the group I met with?”

“That would be extremely helpful.”

“I’ll have my assistant send it along with the video, as well as a copy of my calendar. Now if we’re done here, I’d like to check on Imogene.” I glowered, as if challenging him to keep pushing me.

“My apologies for taking up so much of your time.”

I nodded, then turned.

“I wouldn’t blame him,” he said as I was about to open the door.

I looked over my shoulder, meeting his intense gaze. “Who?”

“Samuel Tate.”

I fully faced him. “Samuel Tate?”

“You’re obviously familiar with who he is.”

I gave a subtle nod. “He was killed several years ago.”

“See, this is where my colleagues and I disagree. I like to explore every possible scenario, regardless of how unlikely it might be. And after that recording was released — the one implicating Senator Turner and Mr. McGuire in trafficking Samuel Tate for profit — it made me think. What if he’s still alive?”

I pushed down the heat crawling over my cheeks, my pulse increasing.

“How?”

“I know it’s a long shot, but it makes sense. Hell, if I were in his shoes and the men I knew and trusted did what these bastards did to Samuel Tate, I’d want to make them pay. I doubt I’d be able to sleep until they suffered just as I had. I’d slowly dismantle their lives until there was nothing left but ashes. Wouldn’t you?”

“I’d trust karma to come for them instead of playing God myself,” I answered in a firmer tone than I thought myself capable of at the moment.

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