Page 62 of Blind Justice

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The office was dimly lit,the heavy mahogany desk casting long shadows against the walls. Maxim Fairchild leaned back in his leather chair, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. The faint scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air, mixing with the distant hum of the city outside.

Luke Andrews, calm and composed, approached the desk. He straightened his tie, a practiced smile on his face. “Anything else you need before I head out, sir?”

Fairchild barely glanced up, swirling the liquor in his glass. “No, Andrews. Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Luke nodded. “Good night, sir.”

He turned and walked toward the door, his movements unhurried but his mind already processing the night’s events. His undercover work with the ATF bore heavily on him, especially in moments like this—standing face-to-face with the man they were trying to bring down.

As Luke reached for the door, it burst open, and one of Fairchild’s other personal security guards stormed in. The man’s face was flushed, his breathing uneven as though he’d been running.

“Boss,” the guard said urgently. “You need to see this.”

Fairchild frowned, sitting up straighter. “What the hell is it?”

The guard pointed toward the TV mounted on the wall. “Put on the news. Channel six.”

Fairchild grabbed the remote, muttering under his breath as he switched on the screen. The image of a smoldering parking lot filled the room, emergency vehicles’ lights flashing in the background. The news anchor’s voice was clipped, urgent.

“Authorities are investigating a powerful explosion that occurred earlier this evening in the parking lot of Pierre’s premier steakhouse, Brayburn’s. Initial reports suggest a bomb detonated beneath a vehicle, leaving extensive damage to it and the surrounding area. Two individuals, a man and a woman, were caught in the blast. We have no news on their condition, and their identities have not yet been released…”

Fairchild’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, his grip tightening on the remote. The screen cut to footage of firefighters working under the glare of floodlights, their movements frantic amid the wreckage.

The guard stepped closer, his voice low. “Boss, it’s that investigator. The guy you had us tailing—Noah Kandor. He was there. And the woman. That’s his lawyer, Ruth Everhart. They were by her car when it happened.”

Fairchild turned to him sharply. “You’re sure about that?”

The guard nodded. “I was following them. They left the FBI office, went to her office, his friend put a briefcase in her trunk, and they went to the restaurant. Got real chummy. Then this happened in the parking lot. They barely made it. They carted her away on a stretcher. He was walking.”

Fairchild’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he set his glass down with a sharp clink. “I didn’ttellyou to blow them up, you idiot. I said towatchthem. I wanted to leverage him, not kill him. Who the hell authorized this?”

The guard raised his hands defensively. “I didn’t do anything, Boss. I swear. I only had guys tailing them with me. This wasn’t us.”

Fairchild rose from his chair, his imposing figure looming over the room. His voice was a low growl, dangerous in its restraint. “Then who? Who decided to escalate this without my orders?”

“I don’t know,” the guard stammered. “I’ve got a couple of guys looking into it. But it wasn’t us.”

Standing by the door, Luke Andrews stiffened, his face carefully neutral, but his mind raced.If Fairchild didn’t order the hit, then someone else is in the game.

Fairchild began to pace, his fury barely contained. “The briefcase. Was it destroyed too?”

The guard nodded grimly. “Yes. Everything in her car went up with the bomb.”

“Damn it!” Fairchild slammed his fist against the desk. “You find out who did this. I want names. If someone thinks they can operate in my territory without my say-so, they’re going to regret it.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard said, backing out of the room hurriedly.

Fairchild turned to Luke, his expression still seething. “What are you still doing here? Go home.”

Luke nodded quickly, masking his unease. “Of course. Good night, sir.”

He slipped out of the office, his pulse pounding in his ears. As he made his way down the hallway, his thoughts churned.If Fairchild isn’t behind the bomb, then who is? And what were they after? Are Ruth and Noah still alive?

For the first time, Luke felt the game shifting. There were new players on the board—and the stakes had just gotten even higher.

Twenty-Four

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