Chapter 9 Ridge #2
The Crestons built this room in the twenties as a private security suite, back when wealthy families handled their own containment and disputes. It was meant to be discreet, soundproof, and hidden behind a bookshelf.
When my father renovated it, he chose to keep it in place.
Tripp’s already strapped down in the archaic-looking chair in the center of the room. It’s a macabre relic of old New Orleans, and it suits our purposes perfectly.
Shackles lock his wrists and ankles in place, and he’s looking around with wide eyes with fear unabashedly showing.
Rhodes stands off to the side with his arms crossed and eyes fixed on Tripp with a mix of curiosity and something sharper, calculating. Beau Landry, our resident enforcer for jobs like this, is a solid presence beside him.
Keller looped Rhodes in on this one and made the call to bring Tripp in, then handed the pickup to Beau. Rhodes hasn’t spent much time on interrogations yet, but Keller trusts his instincts and needs to shift focus back to the tables. With everything already in motion, Rhodes was left to run point.
I pull Rhodes aside, keeping my voice low. “So, what’ve you got on him so far? Anything specific I should push?”
Rhodes’s gaze flickers from Tripp to me, thoughtful, measured. “Nothing too obvious,” he murmurs. “Tripp’s being cagey, insisting that he was directed from Stone Intermodal, but says he doesn’t know by whom.”
“How?”
“Snapchat, mostly. We checked his phone, and the account no longer exists. No screenshots.”
“Snapchat? What the fuck? What else?”
“There were a few unusual meetups we still can’t justify, and he says he doesn’t know what he was doing, only that he was told to make contact.
No credentials, access, or materials changed hands, no promises made, according to Tripp.
Small-time guys, mostly, but they’re all linked to Duvall somehow. ”
I clench my jaw. “If there is no way to verify this, I can’t trust a word he says.”
Rhodes’s mouth curves slightly, a hint of a smirk. “Either he thinks he has protection, or he’s more foolish than we thought.”
“Fuck.”
“But here’s the thing,” Rhodes continues. “Keller and I have been digging behind the scenes. He had no idea he was in the hot seat until Beau picked him up from the docks about forty-five minutes ago.”
“Interesting.”
“If you lean into him, he might crack, but he kept circling the same bullshit answers with me. He’s a blubbering mess.”
I nod, glancing back at Tripp, who’s squirming in the chair. “Anything else?”
Rhodes’s expression turns cold and calculating. “The key might be in his fear, Ridge. He’s already nervous. If you keep him on the edge, he’ll slip up and give you more than he means to. It took everything I had not to punch him right in his nose when he tried to feign ignorance.”
I consider his words, the weight of them settling. Rhodes is young, but he has an instinct for this world. He can be cold and calculating, which can either be an asset or, could be a liability. We want to make sure he learns how to apply pressure without breaking systems.
“Alright,” I say quietly. “I’ll keep him dangling. Let’s see how long his story holds.”
The room’s dim lighting makes his features look even harder than usual. Beau doesn’t say anything, which is his MO. His stance, however, is all the warning anyone needs.
I walk in closer, letting the clink of my heels on the cement floor announce my approach. Words aren't always necessary.
Tripp’s head jerks up, and his eyes meet mine. The annoying bravado he usually wears is fading fast. I don’t say anything yet. I just take in the sight of him.
He’s been here almost a full twenty-four hours now, with the noise burned off him. Now we can get somewhere.
“Beau,” I say, nodding. He steps back without comment, clearing space.
I turn to Tripp and crouch in front of him until we’re eye level. The shackles clink softly as he shifts, the sound sharper in the quiet.
“So,” I say, keeping my voice low and even, “you’ve been busy.”
“Ridge, I was just—” He swallows hard. “I was trying to help the family. You gotta believe me. I was only looking out for our interests.”
I straighten and fold my arms. “From where I’m standing, it looks like you were looking out for yourself.”
His eyes flick to Rhodes, then back to me. “No. No. I got word there were opportunities to work closer with your father. If I passed the tests, I could be trusted. All I had to do was make contact with the Duvalls and keep it. I never told them anything.”
The name registers, but I don’t react.
“And you decided to handle that on your own,” I say. “Without clearing it, without running it by anyone?”
His shoulders hunch. “I was told not to tell anyone what I was doing. Those were the explicit orders.”
“Orders from who?”
He blinks, scrambling. “I—I don’t know exactly. It was written, said it was a test.” He shakes his head, breath hitching. “I found a report, something in the files that pointed out weaknesses in Duvall’s operation. I thought it was there for a reason. I thought it was a test.”
“A test,” I repeat.
Beside me, Rhodes shifts, watching closely.
“The timing’s interesting,” I say. “Considering my father was murdered.”
Tripp jerks. “No. God, no. He was like a father to me. I’d never—”
“Then why were you going behind his back to the enemy?”
He falters. “I thought—”
“You thought,” I cut in. “That’s the problem. Stop dancing around it.”
His breathing accelerates. “I didn’t know it would turn into this. I swear. I thought I was doing what I was supposed to do.”
I lean closer. “Did you consider the risk to the family if you were being misled? Who follows orders but doesn’t know who they are from?”
He opens his mouth. I don’t let him say whatever bullshit he’s planning to hand out.
I stand and backhand him once. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s a complete idiot or brilliantly diverting us. Either way, my father’s dead and I’m pissed.
His head snaps to the side. Blood splits his lip, bright and immediate.
I pace away, then back, Rhodes’s earlier words threading through my head. Keep him uncertain. Let him think there’s a way out.
“You think we wouldn’t notice,” I say. “That you could play double agent without someone catching it? Even if you stumbled onto something real, what made you think you had the authority to act alone?”
“I didn’t,” he gasps. “I swear. I thought that was why it was there. For me to find. I thought your dad—or you—were passing something to me quietly. Testing me. That’s what the memo said.”
I study him. Too afraid to be convincing. Too confused to be confident.
“A great story,” I say. “It would make a hell of a spy movie. But this is real life, Tripp. And I don’t believe you.”
“I swear,” he whines.
Rhodes steps in, voice sharp. “So we slipped you a secret memo and told you to ‘hang out’ with our competition on the shipping routes,” Rhodes says, putting the words “hang out” in air quotes.
“That’s what you’re saying?” Rhodes asks.
Tripp’s mouth opens, closes. “I don’t know. Yes. That’s what I’m saying. I thought I was meant to find it.”
“Where is this memo?” I ask.
“It said to destroy it,” he says quickly. “So I did. I burned it.”
“Bullshit,” Rhodes snaps. “He’s playing us.”
The anger in my chest stays contained. Fool or pawn, it doesn’t matter. He crossed a line.
For a moment, Coco flickers through my mind. Underground. Waiting. Every minute I spend here tightens the clock, creating more questions, not answers.
I straighten. “Beau. Leave him here. We’re done for now.”
Beau steps forward. Tripp flinches.
“I want answers,” I add. “And I want them clean. I’ll dig into this memo myself.”
Beau nods.
I turn to Rhodes, catching the thoughtful edge in his expression.
“Let’s go,” I say, turning away from Tripp. Rhodes follows me out of the room. As the door shuts behind us, I hear Tripp muttering something under his breath, a last attempt at a defense, a plea.
Rhodes waits until we’re a few steps away, then speaks up, his voice low. “You can’t be buying this?”
“It’s so far-fetched, I have to believe there might be something to it. Obviously, we don’t issue directives like that, and we didn’t do it, but,” I say, my jaw tight. “But either he’s incompetent or deliberately misleading. Either way, I want to get to the bottom of it.”
Rhodes nods thoughtfully. His focus drifts as he considers my words. “Interesting, though, isn’t it?” Rhodes asks, almost to himself. “If it is true, someone picked the right dumbass to find it.”
I don’t answer, but I can feel the weight of his words sinking in. Tripp might be a fool, but if what he is saying is true, someone else’s hand is guiding him. And until I find out who, I’m not letting my guard down.
"For now, he lives. I want to get to the bottom of this."
"Okay. Where do you want to keep him? I can have Beau set him up."
"He can stay here. Get someone to stand guard. I'll be staying down in the bunker. I don't have time to babysit him, too. You're the lead on this."
"Roger, brother. I’ll keep digging. I know you have your hands full, so I’ll report to Vin. We will get to the bottom of this.”
I pull my phone from my pocket as I head for the car and type a quick message to Vin.
Need to update you on Tripp. We also need to talk about the Boudreauxs.
The response comes almost immediately.
What about Tripp?
I rub my temples, forcing myself to stay steady and keep my answer short.
I’ll fill you in when we meet. You free now?
There’s a pause. Long enough to notice. The three dots blink on the screen, a beat longer than usual, blink, disappear, and return.
Now works. Black Orchid?
On my way.
I slide the phone back into my pocket and pull out into traffic. The streets crawl, boxed in by lights and impatient drivers, leaving me with nothing to do but think.