Page 88 of Beautiful Scars

Z lays down a series of documents next to the photo. "Your father was apparently Alexander's accountant. These are transaction records he signed off on—millions of dollars in income. Illegal weapons sales, money laundering. He was in deep Sunny."

"That night. With Garrett. He told me he killed my father." I blink away the tears and take a deep breath. "But, I still don't understand."

"I don't know everything yet, Sunny. But, here." Z unfolds a letter, Alexander's precise handwriting stark against yellowed paper:

Garrett - The situation with Kent has gotten out of hand. It requires your immediate attention. Upon confirmation of removal, payment will transfer as discussed. Additional compensation to include all rights and control over his family assets and dependents. No police involvement. - A.R.

My hands shake as Z places bank statements beside the letter. Offshore accounts. Regular deposits spanning years, all into accounts with variations of Garrett’s name.

"This letter is dated within weeks of when your father disappeared. The only thing I can think of is he wanted out. Or he was skimming. And there was no way either of those things would be allowed." Z's voice is gentle. "Then this."

Another letter. Written in a messy scrawl I recognize immediately as Garrett’s.

It's done. Confirmation enclosed. Moving in with the widow and girl next week as agreed. They won’t be any trouble.. - G

"He gave us to him," I whisper. "Alexander Reeves paid for my father's murder withus."

"Sunny, I think that everything that's happened since the night Garrett tried to kill you was all designed to make sure that Levi wouldn't find out you were alive. If you’d have ever met Alexander you’d know how important keeping Levi close to him was."

"And if Levi knew I was alive he'd have come for me.”

"Levi’s father was very single-minded. The only things that ever mattered to him were his money and his son. I think he kept you hidden by giving Garrett the resources to pull the strings that kept you apart. He made sure Levi believed you were dead. Made sure he had no reason to ever leave again.”

The final photo shows Alexander and Garrett together, dated just weeks before Alexander's death. The same offshore account numbers are scrawled on the back.

"When Levi killed his father..." I start.

"He unknowingly cut off one of the only ways he could've found you," Z finishes.

I stare at the evidence of decades of manipulation. My father's murder. My mother's pain.

"We have to tell him, tell them." My words surprise me.

"Are you sure?" Z studies me carefully.

"This is too big Z," I admit. "But at least now I understand why. Why Garrett always acted like he owned us. Why he could never be caught." I pick up the first bank statement. "He literally bought us."

Z reaches for the intercom. "I'll call him up."

"Wait." I grab his hand. "Just... give me a minute with this before you do that. To process it."

He nods, settling back in his chair. Waiting while I try to make sense of how my entire life was shaped by the three men staring at me from the old photo I'm holding.

And somewhere in this house, Levi is about to learn that everything he thought he knew about his father, about Garrett, about me, is even worse than he imagined.

Itakeadeepbreath, steadying myself. "Okay, I'm ready."

Z nods, gathering the photos and letters. "I'll call everyone in."

Minutes later, all of the men who make up the inner circle are crowded into the office. Wolf and Chase lean against the wall while Ty perches on the windowsill. Colt sprawls in a chair, but his usual relaxed posture is tense. And Levi stands in the corner furthest from me, arms crossed, face unreadable.

My fingers twine through my hair nervously as Z lays out what we found. The surveillance photos are spread across his desk like a grotesque collage of my life. Seven years of me being stalked and documented.

"Jesus," Colt breathes, picking up a photo of me at Sirens. "This is..."

"Sick," Chase finishes, his deep voice rumbling with anger.

I force myself to look at Levi. His jaw clenches as he walks up to the desk and picks up one of the photos. It's one of me in the hospital, taken from the end of my bed while I sleep. He stares at it, his fingertips white where they grasp the shiny paper. The muscle in his cheek ticks—a tell I remember from before. A sign of him trying to keep himself in check.

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