Page 86 of Crown of Smoke

“Not at all? I mean, of course they were quite young back then, but now?—”

“Have you talked to them?”

“What? Me? No. No one knows where they are.”

His smile is smug. “Right. If they’re still alive out there somewhere, we’d have seen them by now, don’t you think?”

“If? Are you suggesting they’re dead? A lot of people have died or disappeared?—”

"Miss Ketchum." Ronan straightens, looming over me. "You seem to be making connections and leaps that don’t exist. I understand that my story is too boring, and you need to find some great conspiracy, but in doing so, you put yourself in hot water.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I won’t allow you to ruin my family’s name with your slander.” My mouth goes dry as he reaches for the intercom on his desk. The casual press of his finger feels like a death sentence. "Security to my office. Now."

The calm in his voice terrifies me more than any shouting could. He releases the button and turns back to me, adjusting his cuffs.

“I think this interview is over.”

I stand on wobbly legs. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. Truly, I admire your success. It’s not boring at all.”

The door behind me opens, and heavy footsteps enter the room.

"Please escort Miss Ketchum out." His tone is dispassionate, like he's discussing the weather. "And ensure she understands the consequences of spreading baseless allegations about our family."

Two security guards flank me.

"Consider this a professional courtesy, Miss Ketchum." Ronan adjusts his tie, all business again. "Drop the story."

The guards start steering me toward the door, and panic roars through me. The guards' grip tightens as they guide me toward the service elevator and press the button for the garage instead of the main lobby. I've never felt more terrified as I realize this isn’t a simple escort out. They're taking me somewhere private.

"My car's out front," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

One guard just grunts. The elevator descends, each floor making my stomach drop further. I think of my phone in my purse. Is it still recording?

The garage is dimly lit as they march me toward a black SUV with tinted windows. My legs turn to lead.

"Wait.” I try to pull back, but their grip is iron-tight. "You can't just?—”

The rear door swings open like a mouth ready to swallow me whole. One guard shoves me forward while the other reaches for my purse.

"Please," I whisper, my hand instinctively covering my stomach. “Why is Mr. Kean doing this? I don’t know anything.”

"Get in."

As they force me into the backseat, the full weight of my miscalculation hits me. The door slams shut with a terrible finality. Through the tinted windows, I watch the guards circle to the front seats.

One guard checks his phone. “Mr. Kean will meet us there.”

“Right.” The driver puts the car in gear and starts to drive.

Where is “there?” Wherever it is, I know that this time, Flint won't be there to save me.

30

FLINT

Ipull up to the gleaming glass tower. The Kean name blazes in gold letters across the front, a monument to their stolen empire. My family’s empire.

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