Page 79 of Artifice
“And?”
“According to banking records submitted in that case, 90 percent of Westridge Enterprises’ startup capital came from accounts traced back to Anton Karakov.”
Olive went still. “Karakov? The same Karakov who?—”
“Yeah. That one.” Tevin’s voice dropped lower. “The Russian-American ‘businessman’ with ties to organized crime in three countries. Officially, he runs legitimate import-export operations on the East Coast. Unofficially, he’s been investigated for human trafficking, drug distribution, and at least two suspected murders—though nothing’s ever stuck.”
Olive pinched the bridge of her nose.
This case had just escalated from institutional abuse to something far more dangerous.
“Why would someone like Karakov be interested in a reform school in Maine?” Olive murmured.
“That’s where things get really disturbing,” Tevin said. “Karakov’s legitimate businesses include a pharmaceuticalinvestment group called Novaya Zaria. It specializes in ‘experimental therapeutics.’”
“The supplements . . .”
“Exactly. Three months ago, Karakov’s pharmaceutical arm filed seventeen new patents for—you’re going to love this—‘neurochemical compliance formulations.’ The patent applications describe compounds that, and I quote, ‘enhance subject suggestibility and memory malleability while reducing resistance behaviors.’”
Olive felt cold. “They’re using these kids as test subjects.”
“They’re developing behavior-controlling drugs using vulnerable teenagers,” Tevin confirmed grimly. “Based on those patents, they’re getting results. One application mentions ‘successful human trials conducted over a continuous thirty-month period.’”
“The entire time Lighthouse Harbor has been private.” Olive’s mind raced ahead.
“But Olive, there’s something else. The judge who granted Lighthouse Harbor’s privatization? Judge Martin Wells.”
“As in?—”
“Dr. Victor Wells’ brother. This goes deeper than we thought.”
Olive glanced in the distance toward the looming silhouette of Lighthouse Harbor. Somewhere in that maze of Victorian architecture and underground tunnels lay answers—and possibly Colin Andrews and Henry Potts.
But now she understood why they had disappeared.
They’d stumbled onto a secret worth killing for.
“Tevin, we need backup. Karakov isn’t someone we can handle alone.”
“Already called Rex. He’s sending a team, but they won’t be here until tomorrow afternoon. Until then?—”
“Until then, we keep digging,” Olive finished. “And we stay alive. Keep our heads down.”
“Exactly.”
Olive shook her head as she tried to comprehend everything Tevin had just told her.
“So not only is something shady going on at the school—shady enough that maybe the kids are being drugged and something is being secretly transported using the tunnels and chambers beneath the school. But this also somehow has ties with organized crime?”
“That’s what it appears. I already sent Rex the report so he could look into it. And Rex is also investigating who Simon could be, using some of his contacts to find information. Hopefully we’ll hear back from him soon.”
Olive glanced around her, the hair on her neck rising.
There was that feeling again. The feeling she was being watched.
As she scanned her surroundings, she saw nothing and no one.
But she wasn’t paranoid. She knew she wasn’t.
