Page 140 of Porcelain Lies

But Hannah will help me get to the bottom of this.

I just know it.

Chapter Forty-One

Aleksei

I study James Whitmore’s carefully neutral expression across his mahogany desk, noting the slight tension in his jaw that betrays his discomfort.

The man has always been a snake, but a predictable one. Until now.

“I appreciate your concerns, Aleksei.” He smooths his hands over his desk calendar. “But you understand the delicacy of these matters. The administration has certain… expectations regarding ethical sourcing.”

Ethical sourcing.

What the fuck?

I lean forward, keeping my voice steady despite the rage building in my chest. “Interesting timing, James. Especially given our decade-long arrangement regarding such… delicacies.”

“Times change.” He adjusts his tie; there’s a tremor in his fingers. “The public demands greater transparency. Child labor allegations are particularly damaging in today’s climate.”

Motherfucker!

I keep my gaze level. “Allegations supplied by Gianni Maranzano, no doubt.” I watch his slight flinch confirm my suspicion. “The same Maranzano whose factories employ children as young as eight.”

“I can’t comment on other contractors’ practices.” His eyes shift to his computer screen, avoiding direct contact.

My hands itch to grab him by that perfectly knotted tie and extract the truth, but I maintain my position. “Ten years of clean inspections, James. Ten years of meeting every specification. Now, suddenly, there are concerns?”

“The committee has received compelling evidence—”

“Blyad,” I cut him off, my control slipping. “We both know this has nothing to do with evidence.”

A bead of sweat forms at his temple. Good. Let him sweat.

“These decisions involve multiple departments,” he hedges. “My influence is limited.”

I recognize the lie in every carefully chosen word. The rage in my chest threatens to explode, but I keep it contained. Barely. This practiced diplomatic dance disguises a simple truth — he’s already sided with Maranzano.

I shift tactics, letting a hint of sympathy enter my voice. “How’s Katherine doing these days?”

His eyes narrow at the mention of his daughter. “Ah. I was wondering when we’d get to this.” He leans back in his seat, his hands folded together on the desk in front of him. “Actually, she’s made a brave decision to go public with her struggles.”

What?

“Tomorrow’s papers will carry our press release detailing her battle with addiction.” He threads his fingers together. “My PR people anticipate that the response will be overwhelmingly positive. The public appreciates transparency, seeing real families face real challenges.”

My jaw tightens. The old snake has turned even his daughter’s addiction into political capital.

“My people believe it will help humanize my image.” His lips curl into a cool smile. “Show I’m not just another heartless politician, but a father supporting his child through difficult times.”

I remember the photos of Katherine passed out in her car, the cocaine residue on her dashboard. What was meant to be leverage has become his strength.

But I’m not finished. I reach into my jacket, withdrawing a slim folder.

“Speaking of transparency,” I tap the folder against my knee. “I’ve been reviewing some interesting property records. Your funds in the Caymans… the ones that don’t appear on any of your disclosure forms?”

I watch Whitmore’s face, expecting at least a flicker of concern. Instead, his smile widens.

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