26. Tara
TARA
I stood in the center of Xander’s living room, the adrenaline from Diego’s confession still singing in my veins. The lies were all out, a tangled, ugly mess on the floor. Now, it was time to clean them up.
“I need a drink,” I announced, not to anyone in particular, and strode to the kitchen. I bypassed the whiskey and pulled a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge. I didn't need to be numb; I needed to be sharp. My hands were perfectly steady as I twisted the cap off.
The cold bite of the water grounded me. I leaned against the counter, watching Xander pace like a caged animal.
“We have him,” he said, turning to me, his eyes blazing. “Morrison’s notes, Diego’s testimony… We can finally end this.”
I took a long, deliberate swallow. “Can we?”
He stopped pacing. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, let’s look at our hand, Xander,” I said, setting the bottle down with a sharp click. “We have the word of a disgraced, bribe-taking cop and a gambling addict who was on my father’s payroll. In a courtroom, Hank’s lawyers would shred them before lunch. It’s not enough.”
Leo, who had been watching silently from an armchair, gave a grim nod. “She’s right. It’s a mess, but it’s not checkmate.”
“Then what the hell do we do?” Xander demanded, frustration cracking his voice.
I pushed off the counter and walked to the massive wall of windows. Miami glittered below, a city built on ambition and secrets. My father’s city.
“We need something irrefutable,” I said, my voice low. “Something his money can’t bury and his lawyers can’t spin.” I turned back to face them, the plan fully formed, cold and clear in my mind. “We need him to confess.”
Xander stared at me. “Confess? To who? He’s not going to just offer it up.”
“Not to you,” I said. “To me.”
He took a step toward me, his face darkening. “You’re talking about going to him alone.”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous.”
I raised an eyebrow. “This from the man who just walked into a mob den to rescue Diego?”
“That was different.”
“How?” I challenged.
“Because Torres is a businessman with a code!” he shot back, his voice rising. “Your father is a monster who has spent twelve years trying to destroy my life while pretending to protect you. There is no code. There are no rules with him.”
He was right, and that was exactly the point.
I reached for his hand, my touch calming him instantly.
“He won’t see this coming. His blind spot has always been me.
He thinks he’s won. He thinks he’s finally broken us apart and that I’ll come running back to him.
” I squeezed his hand. “He’ll be so high on his own victory, so desperate to justify why he was right all along, he won’t be able to stop himself from talking. ”
Leo cleared his throat. “And how do you prove it?”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and held it up. “I record him.”
Xander was already shaking his head. “Tara, no. What if he finds it? What if he realizes it’s a setup?”
“He won’t,” I said with a certainty that left no room for argument. “He has never, not once in my life, seen me as a threat. I’m just a daughter to be managed. That arrogance is the weapon we’re going to use against him.”
“There has to be another way,” Xander insisted, his voice pleading.
“There isn’t,” I said gently, but firmly. “We can’t go to the cops or the league. He owns them. This is our only shot, and we have to take it now, before he finds out Diego flipped.”
A heavy silence fell over the room. I could see the war in Xander’s eyes—the instinct to protect me fighting against the cold logic that I was right.
“I don’t like it,” he said finally, his voice rough.
“You don’t have to like it. You just have to trust me.”
He pulled me into a fierce, desperate hug, his arms a steel cage around me. “Be careful,” he murmured into my hair. “If anything happens to you…”
I held onto him, drawing on his strength. “He’s played his last card, Xander. Now it’s my turn.”
When he let me go, I saw the terror in his eyes, but underneath it, he was letting me do this. He was trusting me to handle it. It was a terrifying and beautiful thing, a love that didn't seek to control, but to empower.
“I’ll call you the second it’s over,” I promised.
Leo gave me a quick, awkward hug. “Give him hell, Tara.”
I walked toward the door, my purpose a shield around me. I flashed a grim smile over my shoulder. “That’s the plan.”
In my car, I rehearsed what I would say, how I would act. The key was to make my father believe he’d won without seeming too eager or compliant. A delicate balance—defeated enough to satisfy his ego, but not so broken that he’d be suspicious.
I pulled over a few blocks from my father’s mansion and called him, my heart pounding as I waited for him to answer.
“Tara.” His voice was cool, controlled—as always.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then made my voice small and uncertain. “Dad, I... I need to see you.”
A pause. “I thought you made your position quite clear the last time we spoke.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” The words tasted like ash in my mouth. “I’ve been confused about everything, and I... I need your help sorting it all out.”
Another, longer pause. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head, weighing my sincerity, calculating the odds that this was a trap. Finally, he spoke.
“Come to the house. I’m in my study.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I said, relief—both genuine and performed—coloring my voice.
“I’ll be waiting.”
The line went dead. I sat for a moment, gathering myself. First hurdle cleared . He was suspicious alright—he wouldn’t be Hank Swanson if he wasn’t—but his confidence in his ability to read and manipulate me had won out. Now came the hard part.
I drove the rest of the way to the mansion, rehearsing my lines, adjusting my demeanor. I had fully stepped into the role of the confused, vulnerable daughter seeking her father’s guidance.
The security guard waved me through without question.
I parked in front of the house, but before getting out, I opened the voice recording app on my phone and started it, then slipped the phone into the outer pocket of my purse where it would have the clearest access to pick up our conversation.
I checked that the screen was locked so it wouldn’t accidentally stop recording, then stepped out of the car.
The front door opened before I could ring the bell. Maria, my father’s longtime housekeeper, greeted me with surprise and genuine warmth.
“Miss Tara! It’s been too long.”
I managed a small smile. “Hi, Maria. Is my father in his study?”
“Yes, yes. He’s expecting you.” She stepped aside to let me in, her eyes lingering on my face with concern. “Are you alright, mi nina? You look tired.”
“Just a long day,” I assured her, touched by her concern.
I made my way through the sprawling mansion, each step taking me deeper into the lion’s den.
When I reached the study door, I hesitated, hand raised to knock. This was it. Once I stepped inside, there would be no turning back.
I knocked.
“Come in,” my father called.
I entered the same room where, just a week ago, he had caught me searching through his files. He was seated behind his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose, a stack of papers in front of him. He looked up as I entered, his expression carefully neutral.
“Tara. Have a seat.”
I moved to one of the leather chairs facing his desk, perching on the edge rather than settling in.
“Thank you for seeing me,” I said, keeping my voice soft, my eyes downcast.
He removed his glasses and set them aside, studying me with the penetrating gaze that had intimidated business rivals and league officials for decades. “You said you needed my help.”
I nodded, fidgeting with the strap of my purse—partly for show, partly to ensure the phone was still recording. “I’ve been... overwhelmed. By everything that’s happened.”
“With McCrae, you mean.”
I looked up, allowing some genuine pain to show in my eyes. “Yes. And with what I found in your files about Jimmy. And what Diego told us today.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “Diego spoke to you?”
Careful . I needed to give him enough information to open up, but not so much that he realized we had him cornered.
“He came to the facility,” I said, sticking close to the truth. “He was... injured. Gambling debts. He said some things about you, about arrangements you had with him.”
My father’s expression hardened. “And you believed him? A man who can’t control his own vices, who would say anything to shift blame?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. That’s why I’m here.” I leaned forward, injecting desperation into my voice. “I need to understand, Dad. All of it. Jimmy’s death, why you brought Xander to Miami, everything.”
He studied me for a long moment, assessing. I held my breath, waiting.
Finally, he stood and moved to the side of the room where a small bar was set up. “Drink?”
“Just water, please.”
He poured himself two fingers of scotch and a glass of water for me, then returned, handing me the water before leaning against the desk rather than sitting behind it. A calculated move to appear more approachable, more paternal.
“What exactly do you want to know?” he asked.
I took a sip of water, gathering my thoughts. “The truth,” I said simply. “Jimmy committed suicide, didn’t he? You bribed Detective Morrison to cover it up. And you paid Diego Mano to destroy Xander’s career.”
I stated it as fact, not accusation—a technique I’d learned from watching my father in negotiations. Make the other person deny rather than explain, and they’re already on the defensive.
But he didn’t deny it. Instead, he took a slow sip of his scotch, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You’ve figured it out,” he said, and there was something almost like pride in his voice. “I always knew you were smart. Like your mother.”
A chill ran through me. I hadn’t expected him to admit it so easily.
“Why?” I asked.