Page 32 of Livewire Witch

Our less legal activities include money laundering through some of the more lucrative legal businesses. But the thing about cleaning dirty money is that you need to be bringing in legitimate cash to avoid drawing attention your way. And most of our most popular, lucrative businesses seem to be dying on their asses at the moment.

I can’t make sense of it. I was expecting some infighting as people vied for position while I was absent. I might even have expected people to try their luck at skimming off the top-line in the hopes it would go unnoticed.

But I didn’t expect our businesses to be tanking like they are.

We spend another hour going through the financials, with me getting steadily closer to pulling my hair out.

Considering things started with me coming face-to-face with my father’s bare ass, it’s saying something that my day doesn’t get much better from there.

MY FATHER EVENTUALLYdismisses us after an hour. The giggle that sounds along the hallway after we’ve left has me shuddering and wanting to pluck my own ears off.

“Sorry, man,” Zeph mutters as we slide into the town car again, ready for our next meeting of the day. “If you don’t wanna fake your death, it’s going to take a while to fix shit around here. Pretty sure we dropped the ball while you were sick.”

I shake my head at him. “I don’t know. Unless you’ve been going around and randomly setting fire to things, I don’t know how things can have fallen apart like this so quickly. What the fuck is happening in our district?”

I ask that question to the manager of one of our most popular pubs: The Wyrmwood. There are only a couple of customers inside, and one guy working behind the bar.

The Wyrmwood usually has a steady stream of tourists flocking in during holiday seasons, and an underground fighting ring in the basement for slower months of the year.

Yet somehow, it’s losing money right now. For the first time since it opened, two decades ago.

“You gotta manage the place properly if you want people to stick around. You know how it is.” The guy shrugs at me, notpausing in his task of wiping down the bar with a wet rag. “Felix comes by every couple of weeks, and he leaves with a wad of cash from the safe every time. With things being how they are, the staff weren’t sure they were gonna get paid, so they left.”

That still doesn’t explain quite how much money we’re down in takings.

“What can I tell you?” He shrugs again. “We used to bring in a whole heap of cash on fight nights. We had a griffin that would bite the shit out of people and plenty of idiots that thought they stood a chance against it.”

“Damn, wish I hadn’t missed that,” Zeph grumbles beside me.

“Did people get bored with it or something?” I ask.

The guy behind the bar shakes his head. “Nah, it got sold off somewhere. Word is, one of the Archarcans fancied themselves their own guard griffin, and then the next day, it was gone.”

I fight the urge to rub my face and instead give the guy a chin lift and then head on out. I hold out until we’re outside to risk a glance at Zeph, who looks as perturbed as I am.

“What the hell is Felix playing at? It’s like he’s tanking the entire district.”

“Beats me.”

We continue going from business to business all day until we’ve done a tour of the entire district.

The story is the same everywhere we go.

The businesses have been mismanaged and Felix seems to have been stuffing his pockets wherever he can.

We stop for a quick bite for dinner in one of the mostly empty diners and I scan through the financials once again, my head in my hands. Meanwhile, Zeph takes over questioning the guy running the place.

After we’re finished eating, the guy jerks his head to the door. “I’m heading out for a smoke break. We can talk more outside.”

We follow behind and he talks a little more, although he doesn’t provide much more information than what we’ve already learned.

The place is struggling, just like the others. It’s understaffed and Felix pops by at least every month to drain the safe dry.

“Can’t afford to hire anybody new. Our cook quit and we can’t afford to bring in a new one full-time. Means I’m stuck trying to run the front and the kitchen simultaneously half the time, and let me tell you I ain’t a chef.”

I notice in the glow of the fluorescent street light that he looks exhausted.

Before I can ask him any more, a clanging in the alley behind us draws my attention to my left. There’s someone stumbling along, clinging to the wall.

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