Page 32 of Justice for Francesca

“FBI hoping I was the killer and that I would give up information on the sex trafficking case they couldn’t link me to the last time?”

“I don’t doubt that played a part, as misguided as the thought was.” He pursed his mouth, clearly thinking about what he was going to say. “Personally though? I really just wanted to share with you to go easy on Frankie. She’s a bit… confused right now.”

Their food arrived, and the men began to dig in.

“In a lot of ways,” Tripoli said, “she’s exactly the same now as she was when she was undercover at The Library. She was friendly, but you had to approach her first. She was incredibly nice but reserved. Never seemed to react to anything. As I got to know her more, she loosened up, but then all hell broke loose.” His gaze flicked between the two men. “I’m assuming you know what happened.”

Cruz and Calder both nodded.

“Now I’m not sure what to make of her; she seems so… cold.”

Calder chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Cold. Clinical. Closed off. Pick your ‘C’ word, and she’s been called it.” His eyes relayed that he was not happy with at least one of the other C-word options.

Cruz scowled at his friend. “Most of those are unfair as well.” He lowered his voice. “This is where I’m really toeing the line with confidentiality. All I can tell you is that going undercoveras much as she does isn’t normal for an agent. You have to volunteer for it. Been there, done that, and I have no desire to do it again. Frankie, however, volunteers a lot. She’s incredibly good at what she does, and she gets moved around a lot. But being that good comes with a price, and the longer people are undercover, sometimes it gets harder and harder to resurface. Add to that her family issues? The woman is going to implode one day if she’s not careful.”

“Well, as insightful as this all is and as grateful as I am, you gentlemen didn’t invite me to sit down to talk about Francesca.”

Calder stopped chewing and swallowed. “Francesca, is it?” He looked at Cruz. “Interesting.”

Tripoli snorted. “Don’t read too much into it.”

“Well, you are correct. We were planning to come over to Elysium after lunch to ask you some questions about Mila Sequeira. I have the basics on your relationship, but I wanted to ask you about her business interests and their connection to you. Your walking in the door killed two birds with one stone.” There was a well-timed squawk from one of the live birds that made the café their home. “No pun intended,” he muttered.

Tripoli warned, “Yeah, don’t be calling down Skeletor’s bad juju on your head. There’ll be more than mayonnaise on that sandwich.”

All three of the men chuckled.

He answered the unasked question, “I met Mila when I was interested in purchasing my newest property. It belonged to her uncle, whom she worked for. I needed an introduction, which she agreed to make for a ten percent interest in Elysium. In hindsight, I probably should have declined her option and offered her a slightly higher commission fee. However, I banked on her willingness to sell her interests back to me. She had a notoriously short attention span for these kinds of things, so at the time, it seemed like a risk worth taking. Once I gainedthe introduction, things went smoothly, and the sale was done within a week.”

“What happens to Mila’s ten percent now that she’s passed?”

Tripoli shook his head. “I don’t know yet. I don’t know the contents of her will or if she had one. There’s general concern amongst my staff that we’ll now have mafia ties if it goes to her family. Understandably, that makes them nervous, and a couple are considering selling out if that comes to pass.”

“She didn’t have a will.”

Tripoli’s face scrunched up. “If you knew the answer, why ask me?” He rolled his eyes. “Never mind. You wanted to see ifIknew and, if I didn’t, what my reaction would be.”

Cruz supplied the answer Tripoli didn’t want to hear. “As of right now, no will has been found; therefore, all of her assets will revert to her nearest relative.”

“Which means her father.”

“Correct. I imagine the mafia would love to get in on this club, considering its success.”

Tripoli nodded. “Yes, I imagine so.”

He could feel Cruz’s FBI brain at work just by looking at him, but it was Calder who voiced the question. “And? What will you do if they pursue it?”

“I’d meet with the ownership, discuss it, and we’d vote.”

Cruz reached into his jacket pocket for a piece of paper there. He consulted the notes on it. “Yes, I reviewed the ownership portions. You have twenty-five percent, Christopher ‘Cosmos’ Reynolds owns twenty-four percent, Mason “Triumph” Zelinski owns twenty percent. Matilda “Tilly” Moll owns five percent, Michael Murphy owns three percent, and Mila Sequeira owned ten percent. Where does the other thirteen percent go?”

“The rest of my staff. Ryleigh, my bartender, has three percent. All others—approximately thirty-five of them—share in the remaining ten percent as part of their benefits. They workhere, so they should at least be heard, as well as gain something for their hard work.”

“The staff includes your performers?”

“Performers, waitstaff, technicians, custodial. If they get a paycheck from me, they’re part of that ten percent. I realize it sounds like a pittance, but the truth is, the clubs are very successful. It’s a very nice bonus around the holidays, especially since Cosmos, Triumph, and I all secretly give over a portion of our financial shares as well.”

Calder grunted. “I think we’re in the wrong business. No stock options as a public servant.”

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