Page 55 of Dirty Liars

“That’s a sucker’s bet,” Doug said. “But get this, I ran Nicholas Vasilios’s financials for the same three-year period, and the last year that Theo was gone, Nicholas made four separate payments totaling right at twelve million dollars.”

“To New Dawn Fellowship?” I asked, sitting up straighter.

“I don’t know yet,” Doug said. “Nicholas was ambassador at the time, so he used the State Department to set up dummy accounts and move money through a couple dozen different accounts. I’m peeling back all those layers to see who was the recipient of all that money.”

“So when did Theo decide to rejoin society?” I asked, my mind racing to connect the dots.

“Theo leaves a digital footprint again about a week after the fourth payment was made by Nicholas. And then he’s back in the tabloids and living the high life as if nothing had happened.”

I processed this as we drove through the darkness. “So Nicholas paid someone off to get his son back from this New Dawn Fellowship.”

“Or paid to keep something quiet,” Jack suggested. “People don’t usually shell out twelve million dollars unless they’re desperate.”

“And the tattoos?” I asked. “How do they connect?”

“I’m still working on that,” Doug said. “But get this—I just found a reference to a ceremonial branding for new members in an archived news article about a cult investigation. The reporter mentioned matching tattoos on initiates’ bodies as a symbol of their new family. The article was about a different group, but the description matches.”

“So Theo joined this group, something happened that made Theo want to leave, and Nicholas paid a fortune to extract his son,” I said. “And now someone’s on a killing spree, and three of our victims have the same tattoo on the bottom of their foot.”

“You gotta brand your members, right?” Jack asked. “Not a lot different than the Hells Angels.”

“That makes the most sense,” I said. “Cults often mark their followers—it creates belonging and makes it harder to leave.”

“Doug,” Jack said. “The car Rogan was found in—it’s a black Mercedes sedan. The car that ran Chloe off the road a few months back was also a black sedan. Let’s run vehicles of those on our lists and see if anything pops.”

“On it,” Doug said.

“What if Rogan wasn’t just working security for Nicholas? What if he was also tracking Chloe? Or trying to scare her? Maybe Nicholas knew exactly where she’d come from and didn’t want his son to be dragged back into it. So he’s the one who plans to eliminate her. Maybe things just went wrong the night Theo and Chloe were killed, and Theo was murdered too.”

Jack grunted at the theory, and I heard a rumble of voices in the background on the phone.

“I’m putting you on speaker,” Cole said. “We got in touch with Emmett Parker and Vivica Vasilios.”

Jack and I exchanged a quick glance, both of us surprised at how quickly Cole had managed to track them down.

“What did you find?” Jack asked, his eyes returning to the dark road ahead.

“Parker was easier than we expected,” Cole said. “He’s a student at Ridgemont Community College in Richmond. Lives about a block from campus in one of those cheap student apartment complexes. Kid answered on the first ring.”

“Did he know about Chloe’s death?” I asked, still trying to piece together how this young man fit into Chloe’s mysterious past.

“Yeah, he’d seen it on the news. He seemed real upset,” Cole continued. “He agreed to come to the sheriff’s office tomorrow morning before his first class. Said he could be there by eight.”

“Good work,” Jack said. “What about Vivica Vasilios?”

“That’s where it gets interesting,” Martinez’s voice came through the speaker. “She wants to meet tonight. Said she doesn’t care how late it is.”

“Tonight?” I asked, glancing at the clock. It was just after nine.

“Her exact words were that she feels her life might be in danger,” Martinez said. “She was pretty insistent about talking to you specifically, Sheriff. Said it has to be tonight.”

Jack’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Where is she?”

“She’s staying at The Tides in King George,” Cole answered. “Said she’d meet you in the hotel bar. It’s open until midnight.”

The Tides was a boutique hotel that had opened about a year ago, catering to the wealthier visitors to our area. It was sleek, modern, and expensive—the kind of place that served tiny portions on enormous plates and called it cuisine.

“She’s flying out on the Vasilios private plane back to London first thing in the morning,” Martinez added. “Sounds like she’s in a hurry to put distance between herself and whatever’s happening here.”

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