Page 27 of Finding Lord Landry

“Right, good.” Ordinarily, at this point, it would be Kenji taking over the meeting, fingers flying deftly over his tablet as he researched what we’d need with one hand and somehow managed to get it for us with the other. I felt completely inadequate to the situation. “I’ll, ah… look up embassies and see if the US has one there. Silas, maybe call our attorneys? See if they have any ideas?”

We spent the next several hours banging our heads against the wall. Ryan’s security contacts came up empty, and after waiting on hold with the State Department, we were told they’d add Kenji’s name to the list of citizens “possibly” in San Cordova. There was no embassy there, and the closest one wasn’t in a position to get involved yet.

After tracking down Kenji’s travel information, we called all of our contacts back with proof of his visit, copies of his passport, and everything else we could get our hands on.

Throughout it all, I kept texting Kenji.

Please, Kenj. I’m worried.

I knew it was pointless. I also knew it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t get a message out. But I craved something, anything, from him.

At one point, Tully returned to the table with Lellie on his hip. “Say hi to Uncle Landry,” he murmured, waving her little hand toward the camera.

“Hi, Lanny,” she said softly before tucking her face into Tully’s neck. I couldn’t help but be grateful for this one happy spark in an otherwise awful day.

Spending time on the video call with my friends, my found family, was healing in a way, but I couldn’t shake my fear for Kenji. Yes, he was at a luxury resort, but from everything I’d managed to read, San Cordova was a developing nation without reliable infrastructure and adequate resources to handle a situation like this.

Bash came in from another room where he’d been on a call. From the look on his face, I could tell it wasn’t good. “I got an update from the guy I know. Armed personnel have surrounded the resort where Kenji is. It’s unclear whether they’re protecting the tourists or holding them.”

My stomach plummeted. “Surely Kenji’s not the only American there,” I asked. “The government has to have a plan to get them out.”

“Unfortunately, the State Department isn’t willing to act until there’s a clear indication they’re in danger,” Bash said. “Fucking bureaucracy.”

Foster pressed his lips together. “Yeah. You know if there was afamousAmerican there, they’d already have a plan to get boots on the ground. We receive way more resources to find lost rich kids than poor ones. And if there’s a celebrity involved? There’s no limit to the amount of money and personnel involved in a rescue operation.” He glanced between us. “Does anyone know if Kenji’s retreat had anyone famous attending?”

“The guy putting on the retreat is famous,” I volunteered. “Chaska Inira.”

“He’s Peruvian, though, isn’t he?” Bash said. “The US isn’t going to foot that bill.”

“We don’t know who else is there,” Silas said. “None of us have talked to Kenji in two weeks.”

“I have,” I admitted. “But you know Kenji’s not the type to name-drop celebrities. How do we figure out who else is there?” I asked.

“People like that might use hashtags on socials,” Zane suggested.

“I don’t think they’re allowed to use their phones,” Dev cut in. “Screws with the meditation vibes.”

This was true… but I happened to know at least one person who hadn’t been able to grind out four whole weeks of mindfulness. I was willing to bet there were more.

“It’s worth a try,” I told Zane. “You guys search for San Cordova hashtags, and I’ll look for ones for the resort.”

We quickly discovered a young Chicago socialite named Lindsey Graves, who had a significant following on social media and had been posting practically nonstop since landing on the island… at least until yesterday.

I wasn’t sure she was enough of a celebrity to prompt State Department involvement, but I couldn’t help scrolling her retreat photos anyway, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kenji in the background. Instead, I found a different familiar face in one of her posts. The guy had changed a lot since Eton, but his square jaw and thick blond hair had stayed the same.

I felt a new spark of hope.

I sent the photo to the Brotherhood. “This is Jamie Winthrop. His father, Jim, is the CEO and co-founder of Winthrop & Meyers, a large investment firm. They’re American expats in London with plenty of money. Winthrop’s a pretty powerful businessman. I’m guessing he’ll do whatever it takes to get his son back. He’s probably already working on it.”

Foster sat back in his chair. “Is he influential enough in London or the States to pull some strings? If so, maybe we could get Kenji out with the Winthrop kid.”

Silas’s eyes flicked to mine. “Landry, do you think this Jim guy will take a call from us?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Jim had spent a lot of time and money trying to establish himself in London’s financial market over the years, including several attempts at influencing my father’s votes in Parliament. This had led to a very open rivalry between the two men—Jim had dismissed my father as an old-school traditionalist while my father referred to Winthrop as nouveau riche and implied Jim’s thirty-year-old company was too new to take seriously—which was one of the reasons Jim’s son and I hadn’t run with the same crowd at Eton. I’d come up with the boys from old families while he’d stuck with the other expats and new-money kids.

Between not knowing Jim personally and his contentious history with my father, contacting him would have to be a last resort.

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