Page 73 of Billionaire Corruption

“She was going to bring me information the next morning,” Agent Dyer said. “It seems rather convenient for some that she might have had that accident only hours before our meeting.”

“I agree. But I assure you, it wasn’t me.” I looked him in the eye, wanted him to know I was being straight with him.

“I feel responsible for her death, even though I don’t know what happened exactly. I brought her in to work at Ladden, she was my right hand. I should have been more supportive. I fired her, but I was going to hire her back as soon as I cooled down.”

“You could just be saying that to pretend you didn’t have a motive,” Agent Dyer said with a little smile.

“I suppose so. I mean, I have an alibi for that night, if you want to check it out. But I guess, you’ll just have to trust me. I know she was mad at me, disappointed even, worried that she was going to lose her job. I should have been more understanding.”

Agent Dyer took the memory stick. “All right, I’ve got enough for now. Let me get back to you.”

It was close to midnight when I left the diner, feeling lighter than I had all week. The ball was in play now, I had set everything in motion and there was nothing left for me to do but watch as it all played out.

There was one more thing to do, though.

I called my father.

“Paul? It’s late,” he sounded disapproving.

“I know. I’m coming to see you.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“No,” I said, putting down the phone.

I knew the time for playing nice was long gone, but I owed my father some kind of explanation.

When I got to their house, the front door was open.

I walked over the marble floor, listening to my footsteps echoing in the hall. It sounded empty and cold, which was how I remembered most of the childhood here too. I wondered where my mother was, probably in bed already. She would have taken sleeping tablets to sleep. I knew she would be aware of what was going on to some extent, she’d texted me when my father had come home the other day, after being out of touch for most the day, he had simply gone into his study and told her not to bother him. She’d asked me what was going on and I had told her to ask my father.

When I reached the study, the door was half open, light streaming out. I knocked once, “Father?”

“Come in,” he said.

He was dressed in a dressing gown, and he appeared to be waiting for me, two glasses of whisky ready.

“I should tell you something,” I said. “I’ve just come from a meeting with an FBI agent, and I’ve told him everything.”

“Everything?” my father’s eyes narrowed.

“Perhaps not everything,” I amended.

He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes in an expression of frustration and exasperation.

“Brock was handling it,” he said slowly.

“I don’t trust Brock and I don’t trust you,” I said. “The time has come for me to take action to ensure that I am not sacrificed in this terrible game that you have been playing.”

“You think this is a game?” My father rose out of the chair, his voice trembling with rage.

But I refused to be intimidated.

“I’ve asked the FBI agents to keep you out of it, hopefully they’ll be able to overlook your fingers in the South American pie.”

My father’s eyes widened as he realized that I knew about his involvement.

“You’ve always been more concerned with the family name than anything else in this family. My happiness, mother and Elise’s happiness was never even a factor. And for what? The family name? Give me a break!”

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