Chapter 54 Mila On the sofa, freshly showered and very, very satisfied, I curled up with Convict while the sun set, and he explained what he'd realised in the early hours. The memory of a woman that had been so powerful he'd followed it all the way to my family's warehouse. It hurt to hear his trafficking suspicion, but I was glad he didn't hide it. "You told Kenney all this?" I asked. "I did, though not that I was undercover. He did fuck all about it, suggesting he didn't have the opportunity or more likely that he's been paid not to hear. Tyler gets tip-offs from the police sometimes. No reason not to do it then." "For Lovelyn's sake, I hope it's the former." He brushed his thumb over my knuckles in a way that told me not to bet on it. "Do you blame me for taking the job?" "Of course not. You were acting under orders and gave the information to the police. What else could you have done?" "Not deliver the woman to the brothel. All I can think is that she probably died in that fire or suffered some other awful fate." "If you hadn't taken her there, someone else would've. You weren't responsible." But some other man was. He watched me carefully. "Do you know if your family ever paid off officials? Maybe customs?" He meant my grandfather. I swallowed. "Not that I knew of. Call me naïve if you want, but I still can't think that my grandfather would do something like this. If only you knew him. He was the gentlest, kindest man. He was always respectful, and he took care of everyone. Me, his extended family, his employees. I never once heard him make a poor taste comment, even as a joke. No one had a bad word to say about him." Aside from the anonymous emails, though I had my suspicions. "I can't explain why Presley was there either. My grandfather didn't like him. He never worked for the business, though his mother asked that my grandfather give him a job." Convict snapped his fingers. "That's his name. I'd forgot and called him Mini Marchant-Smythe. Pissed him off even more. Feels right that he'd be hating on the business. He said something that might not be nice to hear." "Tell me anyway." "That he wanted to know if your grandfather had lined his cabin in gold like his coffin." I wrinkled my nose. "That doesn't make any sense. He didn't even have a cabin on the Eden⁠-" My words dried up. I reached for my phone. Ever since getting home, I'd ignored it to get wrapped up in my boyfriend. But Presley's words were too specific. They were a clue. When I unlocked my screen, I almost wished I hadn't. Multiple news articles flooded in from an alert I had on the Marchant Haulage name. The Eden had been raised, and with it came a rush of interest in the company's inbox. Convict busied himself with organising dinner, claiming he was fine and I needed to stop worrying, and I sorted through the messages, forwarding any requests for interview or comment to the caretaker company and not bothering to ask my grandmother if she wanted to make a statement. Then I shot a message to Lovelyn, asking if she'd seen any police write-up of what they'd found, as the newspaper articles were light on detail of anything other than the salvage operation. No reply came. I hoped she was okay after waking from the knockout gas. Lastly, I hovered over the folder for the hate mail I'd received. Right where the clue had led. Opening it, I selected the top one and hit reply. MarchantHaulage: Give it up, Presley. It's all over. A minute later, and a single-word reply came in. Anonymous: Bitch. I laughed and showed it to Convict. "That bitter little asshole, sending messages like that because the gravy train had run dry. Maybe he'll grow up and get a job now." "You sound like me." I did. I'd changed a lot in the past month or two. Gone was the woman who believed blindly in the family business, and replacing her was someone stronger. Someone in search of the truth, even if it hurt. At my throat, I picked up the gold-and-diamond necklace with my initial. "I swore I'd wear this to never forget my grandfather." But until I knew... I went to take it off. Convict stopped me. "We don't know for sure yet. There's an outside chance someone else in the company is doing this." "Without him knowing?" I huffed a laugh. "I'm becoming cynical, and you're speaking from your heart. We've swapped roles." "We've swapped a lot of things." He closed my hand over the pendant. "Keep it on until we're certain. Hold out hope. That's how I won you." True. I let it fall back into place. "There's something else I discovered today. I've got a sister." To Convict's stunned expression, I explained the revelation of Darcy, the missing Marchant grandchild. At least in that, I didn't need to be the one on the hunt. Kane would find her. I already knew it. He'd seek her out with the hope that when the board meeting was next convened, we could vote three to two and get the money flowing again. Maybe after that, a wind-down programme could be agreed for the business. I didn't much care anymore, so long as it didn't cut beneficiaries off at the knees. Other questions, such as who killed Esther, were still up in the air. Our dinner arrived, as did a crew member with Convict's car plus a new phone, Manny giving him a three-strike count for how many he'd now had. I ate and mused on that other mystery. With all the drama around my family, I hadn't forgotten that loss of life. From the first hint that it might be connected, my mind had toyed with the idea, twisting it over and trying to find any more clues. My phone buzzed, and I nearly dropped my fork at the name on my screen. "It's my uncle. Finally, texting me after all that silence." Convict snorted. "Probably pissed off because the will reading never happened and he didn't get his payday." Wallace: I saw the men you had waiting outside the lawyer's place. One had the markings of the gang that runs that sex club in town. My shoulders bunched around my ears. Then I loosened the tension. By association, I was skeleton crew now. They were Convict's people. I wouldn't let him talk shit about them. A follow-up text came in just as fast. Wallace: So... Can you get me membership? I shuddered and tossed my phone to the coffee table. Yet my mind remained on the warehouse. More specifically, on the games Convict liked to play there with me. Next time we were there, I'd bring the fun. When I was sure he'd healed, I'd have him chase me around the basement, or maybe blindfold me in the sex club. One thing was certain, aside from my brother, no Marchant relative of mine would ever be allowed in the building. Convict touched my knee. "You have an interesting expression." I slid him a look then batted my lashes. His eyes darkened. "Mila, arms over your head and hold the sofa back. Don't let go unless I say so." Fine, maybe this time, the game could be all his. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the Findnøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.