Page 29 of The Older Brother
“That’s where you come in,” he says. My stomach tightens, but I drop my head and read on.
I see Saylor’s mom’s name on a lot of the emails, which is normal since she’s my father’s executive assistant. What troubles me is that her account seems to be the one repeating the changed data, and my father’s email isn’t linked. At least that’s what I glean from these printouts.
“He’s inflating the value,” I mutter. I’ve suspected my father of this very thing before, but I never had any actual proof. That evidence went up in flames along with the beach house.
“That’s what I’m hoping you can help with,” my parole officer says.
I flip through a few more pages, taking a deep breath as they all seem to be more examples of the same behavior.
“That looks like three different investments, am I right?”
“It’s four,” Mike-Steven responds, adding, “that we know of.”
We. As in an agency, likely the attorney general’s office.
“You want me to get you the hard proof.” I sigh and push the closed folder back across the table. My head is starting to throb. So much for drives up north offering me a respite from stress.
The waitress drops off a plate piled with pastrami and layers of bread, along with a mountain of fries, then quickly returns to fill our coffee mugs. I peel open about a half dozen packets of cream, diluting the harsh black coffee with creamer as well as a few ice cubes from my water glass so I can down it quickly. I’m not awake enough to handle this shit.
“Is the car even a real thing?” I lift a brow and give him a hard stare. It’s going to be hard to explain not coming back with a Vette to my partner.
“The car’s real. I think you guys will find that it’s a pretty good deal for you. And for you personally?” Mike-Steven leansback in the booth, slinging an arm along the top of the back as his eyes meet mine for some silent understanding.
“What kind of a deal are we talking?” I feel like throwing up, but at the same time, there’s renewed energy rushing through my arms and legs at the thought of giving my father some kind of justice, the kind I always suspected he deserves.
“Your record will be clean. Like it never happened. None of it.”
I lock on his stare while I hold my breath for a few seconds, waiting for thebutorifto come. I know there’s one there.
“The arsonandthe bullshit theft?”
He gives me a wry half-smile, still not buying the bullshit part of the theft I’m guessing.
“Exactly,” he confirms.
I lift my coffee mug and gulp down the remnants. I’m gonna need another one of these.
“What’s my end?” I don’t meet his eyes when I ask, instead staring at the closed folder thick with incriminating documents in need of a final push.
“You’ll take that title, give me the check, which will be held in an account for you should there be any expenses incurred for your work.”
“Expenses.” I pull out that one word.
He wiggles his head side to side, pulling his mouth in on one side.
“You might find you need to walk the walk with a few of these guys, and they can hobnob at some pricey places. You may need to buy dinner a few times, maybe get yourself a few suits.”
I hold up my hand.
“Wait, wait. You want me to work for him?” I lean in with this question and lower my voice. I get we’re supposed to be discreet here, but I feel pretty good that grandma and grampa enjoying the daily soup four booths away aren’t secret spies. Then again, Ithought Parole Officer Steve-Mike was just a disgruntled federal worker.
“Rowan, this has been in play for months. Your arrest for the vehicle gave us an opportunity to put a few things in play. What did you say the last time we met? Owing your father means you must spend a lot more time with him than you’d like. Well, all we’re asking is that you take advantage of that time and get as close as you can to his business deals.”
I chuckle softly, but it grows louder the more I think about what he’s asking.
“Why are you so amused?” he asks.
I rest my palms flat on either side of my empty mug, smiling up at our waitress as she stops by to top me off.
