Page 496 of The Sinner: James

“Yes. I know about the teacher. She helped him in school before becoming some sort of friend with benefits. I don’t know more than that, but I think the poor woman got smitten with him and fought hard to suppress her feelings for him. I don’t think she succeeded. One thing was for sure. She was not what she thought she was for him. He always had a few other female friends, and things weren't different when he was with her.”

“She quit her job when he graduated.”

“I heard that, but I didn’t believe the rumor. I couldn’t believe a mature woman would do something so stupid.”

“Well. Apparently, she did and also followed him in London.”

She stays silent.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure she could’ve done better than that. Why are you asking me all this anyway?”

“I want to know who his loyalty lies with and if he has a weakness.”

“Sadly, he doesn’t. The only thing he’s loyal to is his money. Other than that, he has no problem using other people. Men, women. It doesn’t matter. Under no circumstances can he be trusted, and there’s nothing he believes in either. Other than money, of course.”

“Why couldn’t he make his money any other way?”

“He’s impulsive and has a problem with authority. Besides, the job or business responsibilities would drive him crazy. I gave up trying to convince him he could do better things than fighting for money. I hope it’s only a phase, but I’m not so sure. And as bad as this is, I’m surprised it hasn’t been worse.”

I check the time.

“Okay. I need to go now. I’ll call you when I get to Monte Carlo.”

With that, I hang up and walk out of the hotel suite.

10

JAMES

The plane sitson the tarmac with its engines running while a car's headlights cast a glow over the windows.

Hand tucked into my pocket, I bring my glass of scotch to my lips and take a swig.

Standing.

I’ve ditched the casual look for a dark gray suit and a black dress shirt. A few buttons are open at the base of my neck.

I check the time on my watch.

“Right on time,” I murmur to myself.

The car doors slide open before two silhouettes slip out and stride briskly to the stairs.

Tiago Rossi and my bodyguard.

The two men enter my jet.

The flight attendant pulls the curtain to the side and invites the first man in just as he lifts his gaze from the floor, locks my eyes, and turns to stone.

Tiago Diego Rossi.

My younger brother.

Looking just like me when I was twenty-five.

In all fairness, he looks older than his actual age now that his expression is frozen.

He’s well built and broad-shouldered about my height and weight, his green eyes and dark hair eerily resembling mine.

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