Page 110 of Burning Daylight
“I want you to paint it on the walls of this town.” Something sparks to life in his gaze.
My face contorts in surprise. “You…wantme to tag?”
“Sometimes the best message is delivered by a faceless ghost. And sometimes the best way to take down an empire is when you give people a sprinkle of doubt and let it fester.” He pauses, licking his lips. “Sometimesto get rid of the rot, you have to rip everything out from the roots and start fresh.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I entirely believe him. “And what if I get caught?”
He shrugs. “You’ll be protected.”
“But you can’t take care of this?” I lift the folder.
My father sniffs. “The Calloway ties are strong, son, and I’ve fought for years, but with me being sick and in treatment, I’ve let things get away from me. They own the politicians. The city council members. The board of trustees to Verona University. Every avenue I try, I get shut down. And every year, they dig their talons deeper into the town and push me out.”
“What about the WayMont agreement?”
“All that agreement does is ensure the Montgomery Organization and Calloway Enterprises don’t own above a certain percentage of the town. But shell companies aren’t technically owned by Calloway Enterprises, and bribing political influence isn’t, either.”
“That’s fucking bullshit.”
He nods. “There are always loopholes. Craig has a business deal with people outside of this town. Influential people. They send in a group he says are land agents. They like to come to the HillPoint areas and coerce the neighborhoods into high-interest loans. I was too busy trying to survive to even realize what they were doing before it was too late. They’ve acquired ownership of land and businesses because of defaults on those loans.”
“So, they basically own everything, despite an agreement saying they won’t?”
“Almost.”
I swallow. “Are you broke?”
He grimaces. “Not yet. But if things keep going the way they are…”
It does seem fucked up.
I finger through the documents. There aren’t paper trails to what the Calloways have done, but my dad has collected enough information that I can cause suspicion.
My dad sniffs and then stands, adjusting his belt buckle and patting me on the back. “Knowledge topples kingdoms, son. All I’m asking is for you to enlighten the people.”
“Conveniently leaving outyourcorruption, I’m assuming?”
He smirks. “I didn’t ever say I was a saint. You’ve gotta lie with the dogs to get the bone.”
My brows furrow, and I nod.
“Benny’s around if you need any help with this. He’s your go-to, but he and Frederick are theonlyones you can trust with this. Understand me?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, my focus still on the papers.
I pull out one of the pages, a glossy photo staring me in the face. One with three men huddled in the back alley of what looks like The Round Table Tavern on the edge of the HillPoint.
Moving down the page, my finger ghosts across the names. Tyler Bault. Art Penngrove. Lance Calloway.
Fuck my life.
I grit my teeth, reminding myself why I said yes to this.
For Brooklynn. For Ma.
But it doesn’t stop the foreboding circulating in my chest, warning me that this is only going to push Juliette further away.
Graffiti: Art With a Message? Or Vandalism Without a Cause?
