Page 21 of Prodigal Son

Wow, he was drunk.

“Yeah, that’s their logo,” Eden said, sliding the jar back. “They’ve got a hand in more than just scripts.”

Phillip sighed. “That makes things a bit more complicated. Miles.” He turned to their youngest. “Start digging. I want to know every last thing about that company.”

“I’ve already gathered a fair amount,” Eden said.

“Good, you can share it with him.”

Miles smiled at her. “I have access to search engines that are…um, off the books.”

“Of course you do,” Eden said, rolling her eyes.

“No being above it all,” Phillip admonished, albeit gently. “You’re in my house, asking for my help. We do things my way. Yeah?”

Eden stared steadily at the president, but Fox saw a little flicker of tension as she clenched her jaw. She wanted to say something, but in the end she only nodded.

“And while we’re on the subject,” Phil continued, “do they know you were at Devin’s flat today? Did they follow you here?”

Eden winced. “I’d say there’s a good chance the sniper saw me through his scope.”

“They didn’t follow us,” Axelle spoke up. “No one could have. I’m sure of that.”

“My driver,” Eden explained.

“Nobody followed us,” Albie agreed. “But if they know who Devin is, they’ll know he’s our dad. So.”

“If they know that,” Fox said, unable to keep quiet anymore. “Then they know he’s a shit dad and that we all hate his fucking guts. So they weren’t worried about upsetting us.”

It was quiet a beat.

“The abuse,” Devin murmured.

~*~

“The decision, then,” Phillip said, big, square hands clasped together on the tabletop, “is whether we wash our hands of Devin’s problems, or whether we take on Pseudonym and eliminate the threat they pose to him.”

“Right,” Albie agreed.

“No, notright,” Devin protested, leaning forward in his chair. He was nursing his second drink, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, his outrage shining through his usual humor and nonchalance. In a way it was a relief to see; Albie had a hard time remembering he was human, that he actually experienced emotions.

“I’d expect this from Charlie,” Devin went on, “but not you, Phillip. You would really throw your own father to the wolves? Not to mention,” he went, gaining in volume and expression, “all of you are in this now.” He pointed at each of them in turn. “They saw us all together today, so they’ll assume you know what I know. Everybody’s in as much danger as me now.” Almost smug on the last, falling back in his chair with his arms folded.

Phillip looked at him, expressionless, and then turned to Albie. “Either way, he needs to disappear. Or at least give the impression that he has. The more permanent the better. The club can get the rest sorted. And we need to contact the other members of Project Emerald, if we can. Their families, too.”

“Permanent?” at least three voices asked at once.

Albie turned to see that Tommy, Miles, and Devin had all spoken together and were now blinking at one another in surprise.

“That means,” Phillip said, patient, always the eldest, “that we need to stage a murder.”

Fox lifted his head, finally, squinting. “You mean stage, and not actually commit.”

“That’s right, Charlie.” Phillip hid a smile with a sip of whiskey.

Fox shrugged. “Whatever. Sounds interesting.” His head hit the table again with a thump.

Albie turned to Eden, who was, as expected, holding onto an admirable poker face. “Let’s say we needed an official police report…”

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