Chapter 14 Ridge
FOURTEEN
Ridge
I slip into a booth at the back of the bar. The leather creaks under my weight as I settle in, familiar enough that I don’t think about it.
It’s quiet at this hour. Regulars hunch over their drinks, eyes lifting just long enough to clock a newcomer before dropping again. This place has always worked that way. You’re either known or you’re watched. Sometimes both.
Tonight, Vin is meeting me so we can break down our meeting with Laurent.
We spoke briefly afterward, but he had a meeting, and I wanted to get back to the bunker. We planned to circle back to debrief and come up with a plan. I want to know what he’s found since we parted ways.
Laurent’s denial has been sitting with me since the moment he said it. Not because I want to believe him. But because it fits too cleanly to ignore. If he didn’t order the hit, then someone wanted us to think he did.
Or maybe I just don’t like what it means if he is telling the truth, and he wasn’t behind my father’s murder. The thought sits wrong no matter how I turn it over.
Then Coco flashes through my head, and I shove it aside.
Vin didn’t agree immediately, but assured me he would do some digging. He said there was something specific he wanted to look into before we talked again, but didn’t say what.
I’m barely settled when Vin strides in. His silhouette is sharp against the low light.
He scans the room first like he always does. It’s not paranoia, but practice and utility. My father has him trained well. He slides into the booth across from me, already orienting himself to the space.
His expression is closed off, unreadable enough that I don’t bother guessing what he’s come up with.
Beck, the server, appears within moments, as precise as ever. He’s been working at this place longer than I can remember. His tux is immaculate, satin lapels catching the light as he stops beside the booth.
“Mr. Moreau. Scotch, neat?”
His eyes flick to me for half a second, and then down at my half-empty glass. There’s no question there, just an acknowledgment that he will bring me a fresh one.
Vin gives a slight tilt of his head without breaking eye contact with me. That’s all it takes.
Beck moves off, already knowing what to bring.
Vin lights a cigarette, smoke curling lazily between us.
“Did you find out anything since our meeting?” I ask. The impatience edges into my voice. Boudreaux made a vailed threat, at best. But more than that, I don’t want to drag this out unnecessarily, especially if we’ve moved on the wrong family.
“Ridge—”
“We’re stalled. I need to know if pulling Boudreaux’s daughter was the right call, or if we just made things worse.”
Vin takes a slow drag, then lets the smoke spill from his mouth and pulls it back in through his nose. He doesn’t answer right away.
“After our meeting with Boudreaux, I thought about what you told me Tripp said,” he says finally. “It was too far-fetched to be made up, so I dug deeper.”
I still. “Go on.”
“He said someone told him to spend time with Duvalls, but not gather intel or deliver anything,” Vin continues. “That was curious to me. Why would someone want that?”
“You’re going to have to fill in the blanks, Vin. I’m not following.”
“It comes back to the Duvalls.”
“How?”
“That was my question, too. Why would one of our guys be talking to the Duvalls?”
He leans back, cigarette resting between his fingers. I can see his gears turning. This is why he’s always been my father’s right-hand man. His brain works differently, and he sees connections where most don’t.
“I had Wells take another pass through internal logs,” he says. “Not transactions or money, but files. I wanted to know who touched what, and when.”
My jaw tightens. “And?”
“There was a report buried in the system,” Vin says. “Flagged as internal review, but it outlined weak points in our routes that just so happened to match up with the same routes the Duvalls had proposed paying us for.”
“And you think that’s what this is all about? Tripp, the misdirection, the murder?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Vin replies.
“I think the Duvalls put all this in motion to get those routes. When your father said no, they came up with a way to remove that barrier. And I think they let the system use Tripp unwittingly. Of course, too, they made sure you were focusing on Boudreaux, not them.”
I lean forward. “How in the hell did you come up with all of this?”
“I connected the dots. When you step back and look at the whole picture, you can’t not see it.”
He taps ash into the tray.
“And the man with the birthmark?” I ask. “The one who slit my father’s throat and died swearing Boudreaux ordered it. Why would he lie when he knew he was going to die anyway?”
Vin’s gaze sharpens, just a notch. “That’s the piece I’m still working on.”
Silence stretches.
“If Boudreaux didn’t send him,” I say slowly, “then someone else needed that man to die proclaiming it.”
Vin nods once. “Exactly.”
“And someone wanted me angry enough not to question it.”
“They counted on you reacting fast,” Vin says. “On momentum, on a desire for revenge.”
I sit back slightly and let it settle.
“So this could be about port entry. I thought the pressure was coming through labor, through who worked the docks. This was aimed at the lines themselves.”
“That’s what I’m thinking now.”
“So you think it was Duvall who ordered my father’s murder?” I ask quietly, more to myself than to him.
Vin doesn’t rush to agree. He never rushes when he knows I need to arrive somewhere on my own.
“They knew exactly where that would send you. Laurent operates close enough to this world that the overlap looks intentional. The Duvalls counted on that. Counted on you reacting fast and starting a war between the two families.”
It makes sense.
“I still don’t see how they turn one of our men,” I say. “And one of Laurent’s. Not without something big.”
Vin watches me closely. “If I’m right, which I’m pretty sure I am now, then we will get to the details of why and how. But my guess is money. It’s always money. And power.”
I drag a hand through my hair. A bitter laugh slips out. “So I burned time and goodwill chasing the wrong man. And I brought an innocent woman into this.”
“Yep. And they stayed invisible while you did,” Vin says. There’s no judgment in his words, just a clean understanding of how we ended up here. Thank God I didn’t do anything more than I did.
Heat builds low in my chest.
“We’ve got to make this right before it gets out of hand. But I want to know this time, for sure, before I make any more moves.”
Vin’s mouth curves slightly. “There’s a way to turn it. We let them think you’re still locked on Boudreaux publicly. Meanwhile, we start closing in quietly. I’ve already got Wells working on getting proof to support my theory, which I fully expect to come through.”
“I don’t want to keep Coco any longer than necessary,” I say through gritted teeth. “Boudreaux was measured yesterday, but he was unequivocal. I don’t want to create any more bad blood than I have.”
“We need to keep her for a while longer,” he says without hesitation.
“They already see her as evidence you’re following their breadcrumbs.
We don’t correct the assumption. Send him something to show him you’re taking care of her.
Hell, that bunker is nicer than my house.
For now, we continue to use her. We want Duvall thinking you’re on the wrong track. ”
I consider that. Slowly. “And Tripp?”
Vin doesn’t answer immediately this time. But when he finally does, his voice is calm and professional.
“He’s compromised,” he says. “Whether he meant to be or not. He’s got to go.”
“Nothing happens until we know for sure. After I have proof. I’m not moving on assumptions again.”
Vin studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Fair.”
He leans in slightly. “But be ready. This isn’t going to stop. They’re watching how you respond.”
I sit back, drawing in a steady breath as the weight of it settles across my shoulders.
Fucking A.
The Aston Martin’s tires crunch softly over loose gravel as I pull in front of The Black Orchid and drive around to the back. From this side, the building gives nothing away. A loading bay, or a service entrance. It’s the kind of back-of-house access every place like this needs to function.
I walk into a nondescript side door. It’s not hidden, but insulated. A room built for money to move without friction. My father started the private high-end tables about four years ago, and Keller runs them. This is where deals are tested quietly, and appetites are indulged without spectacle.
This isn’t where people come to lose control. It’s where they come to see how much of it they actually have.
Twice a week, capital shifts hands in this room. Tonight, the pace is faster than usual.
I’ve been putting off going back to the Creston House since meeting with Vin. I know what I’m supposed to do. I took Coco when I believed Laurent ordered my father’s murder.
But if Laurent didn’t have a hand in it, directly or indirectly, then keeping her stops being strategy and starts becoming something else entirely.
I should let her go.
The decision should be a no-brainer. Instead, it presses against my chest, like a weight that won’t settle. My foot stays on the brake, the engine idling while my pulse ticks too fast for the calm I’m fighting to maintain.
It isn’t regret that holds me here. It’s the image of her where I left her. Upright. Watching. Not afraid enough to beg, not foolish enough to pretend she doesn’t understand what’s happening. She studies me like she’s filing me away, deciding what kind of man I am before I’ve decided it myself.
That’s the problem.
Letting her go would be clean if she were just another piece on the board. Someone interchangeable. She isn’t, and the fact that my mind keeps circling that distinction irritates me more than it should.