Page 30 of Captured Pawn
“Sophie…”
“Nick…”
“You do realize that despite the fact that what I need to retrieve from the safe belongs to me and my family, getting it back will require breaking the law. And the Bishops’ security is top notch.”
“Bishop. We’re talking about the family that owns the huge pharmaceutical company, right?”
“That’s their front. They make the bulk of their fortune trafficking illegal narcotics and illicit drugs. They have a network of kids working for them in the big cities, distributing their potent shit. By my estimation, they’re responsible for at least fifty percent of the overdose deaths in high school and college-aged kids on the East Coast and all the way down into Central America.”
“If that’s true, why haven’t the police arrested them?”
“Old man Bishop bought all the right judges and law enforcement personnel in every city they’re doing business in. And when they do run into legal problems, he has his oldest son, a ruthless lawyer, get dirt on anyone trying to prosecute the family until he gets all charges dropped. I’ve watched them slip out of trouble more times than I can count.”
I watched her considering all I’d said, weighing the information before asking, “That does sound bad, but why do you care so much about what they’re doing?”
I could give her a dozen good reasons dating back the hundred years our families had been feuding with each other even before leaving Ireland, but none of those were important. She only needed to know the present-day reason.
“I think you know that Knight Industries builds ships. We have lucrative contracts with several governments, including the US Department of Defense, to build top-secret ships, subs, and even underwater weaponry housing. That’s our public-facing industry that my brother runs.
“It’s our connection to shipping that also gives us indirect control over the waterways and docks within a one-hundred-mile radius of Providence. Businesses wanting to route their goods through the area need to work with me, for their own protection.”
I could see Sophie reading between the lines of what I was telling her. I waited for her censure. For her to condemn me.
It didn’t come.
“And the Bishops refused your…protection?”
“Worse. They insist on trying to export the illegal drugs made here at their home production plant—the same ones killing kids up and down the Eastern seaboard—through my docks.
“I may be an asshole who does a lot of things many people would feel were morally questionable, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna be the one to let drugs that kill kids leave from my docks, especially when it pads old man Bishop’s pockets.”
Only after I finished my explanation did I realize how important it was that Sophie believed me. I had no idea why I cared, but I did.
“So… now what?”
My brain knew she had no clue the danger she was offering to put herself into by helping me. I couldn’t remember the last time I was as conflicted as I was in this moment. I needed her help, but the thought of putting her into the same situation that killed Matt felt all levels of wrong. Not only because of my promise to her brother, but because if I was honest with myself, I wasn’t sure I’d get over the guilt if she suffered the same fate.
I trusted my gut. “Put on the sandals I gave you out at the pool. I need to show you something.”
CHAPTER13
Sophie
I’d lost my mind. There really was no other explanation for why I was almost running to keep up with Nick’s long strides as he led me toward the quaint beach house I’d seen him go to earlier in the day.
The sun was almost completely down, but the moon was bright, making it easy enough to see where we were going.
The lapping sound of the waves coming ashore only a few dozen feet away was deceivingly calming. As picturesque as the location was, I knew what I was contemplating doing was pure insanity.
I stood behind Nick as he punched in a long entry PIN code on the keypad next to the door. He then leaned in to provide his retinal imprint right before the lock clicked and he was able to open the door.
“At least now I know what Matt was doing with all of the security gear he kept taking out of the shop’s inventory.”
“Hey, he was paid well for everything,” Nick answered.
I scoffed. “Maybe he was, but those funds never seemed to make it back into the shop’s bank accounts. I used to bug him about needing to write up invoices and record everything in our accounting program, but he thought that was too boring.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not keen on leaving a paper trail either, if you get my drift.”
