39. Justin
JUSTIN
If it weren’t important, Silas wouldn’t be here. That much I know without needing to be told.
I let him up in the private lift. Titan and I are already waiting when the doors slide open, the low hum of the penthouse settling into silence as the lift locks into place.
Silas Mercer steps out. All six-foot-four of him. He fills the space immediately—all broad shoulders and solid build. He has the kind of body that doesn’t come from gyms or aesthetics but from years of function. His posture is relaxed, but it’s the relaxed of someone who is never off-duty.
He’s ex–Army Corps. Highly trained in what he does, and very effective.
Highly dangerous, if pointed in the wrong direction.
His eyes move once around the room, precise and unhurried, taking in the layout without lingering. He registers Titan immediately and gives him a brief nod. Silas joined Goliath as Titan was stepping back, so they don’t share the history he and I do, but respect has never been an issue with him.
Then his attention settles on me.
“Justin,” he says. Even. Unremarkable. As if this were any other morning. When I know it’s not.
“Silas.”
We shake hands, and I turn to make introductions—only to realize Bethany has already stepped forward.
Too fast, like her body moved before her brain could catch up.
She stops short just in time, close enough that she has to tip her head back to look up at him.
And for a split second—just one—her composure completely deserts her.
Mouth parting. Eyes flicking up. Down. Up again.
I can practically hear her jaw hit the floor.
Bethany isn’t easily impressed—nothing rattles her, nothing knocks her off balance—but the second she really takes Silas in, that confidence slips. Just for a beat. Long enough to tell that Silas Mercer is one of those things.
“Hi,” she waves, a little too brightly, like she’s trying to convince herself she’s fine. She is not fine. “Wow. You’re… tall.”
Silas doesn’t step back. Nor does he lean in. He just looks down at her, one brow lifting slightly, the faintest hint of amusement cutting through his otherwise unreadable expression.
“I can see that,” Silas replies.
Titan snorts under his breath.
Bethany clears her throat, straightens her spine, and makes a visible effort to retrieve her dignity. “Sorry,” she adds, waving a hand vaguely at his entire person. “I just—wasn’t expecting you to be so… large.”
Silas’s mouth twitches.
I step in quickly, before she says something that requires medical intervention or a formal apology.
“Bethany.” My voice is a warning. “This is Silas. And he’s dangerous. Radioactive dangerous.”
She blinks once. Twice. Then smiles—wide, unfazed, and very much still affected.
“Well,” she responds. “Then I’ll be sure not to stand too close.”
And I already know this is going to be a problem.
Silas straightens, the last trace of ease draining from him as the mood shifts. Titan steps in closer, solid at my side, a quiet signal that whatever warmth lingered from breakfast is gone. The air sharpens, focus snapping into place where comfort had been.
I glance back toward the girls, then make the call.
“We’ll talk in my office.”
My gaze moves between Titan and Silas, a silent check-in, and then I turn, already heading toward the far end of the house where privacy lives. Where answers can be spoken without witnesses.
The girls stay behind. No questions. No explanations offered. They don’t need one.
Silas falls in step without comment. Titan matches my stride, close and deliberate. The sound of our footsteps changes as we move—pulling us away from the kitchen, away from the warmth and easy light, away from anything that resembles normal. Each step feels like a descent.
When the office door shuts behind us, the click loud in the quiet, it seals the rest of the house away. The laughter. The safety. The illusion.
Only then do I let out a slow breath, the kind you take when you know whatever comes next won’t be easy—but you’re ready for it anyway.
“What do you have for us?”
“The reason that Scott-Evans has been able to evade the authorities for so long,” he starts. “And I believe this is what will throw your investigation wide open.”
“Start talking,” Titan’s voice is low and unyielding, and I can see he’s still as impatient as ever.
“William Scott-Evans has one of the biggest safety nets I’ve ever come across,” Silas tells us.
“Explain that to me.”
Silas doesn’t waste time.
“His father sits on two boards connected to the university. One is obvious. One is quieter. The kind where donors get access and influence. Scott-Evans has been protected by that power for years. I can give you at least three complaints against him that got buried. There were two settlements. All incidents happened before he even graduated.”
“What were the accusations?” I ask.
Silas doesn’t hesitate. “Most of them were rape.” He pauses, jaw tightening. “One settlement included forcible sodomy. It was so brutal that the victim required reconstructive surgery. Her anus had to be sewn back up.”
My jaw tightens. “And the dean? What’s his involvement?”
“This is where it gets tricky.” Silas watches my face carefully. I don’t know what he expects to see, but I keep my expression neutral.
“Dean Stockton has direct ties to the Scott-Evans donor network. He attends their events. He’s pictured in photos with the Scott-Evans family. He’s not exactly a passive beneficiary.”
“How involved is he?”
Silas pauses, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “You could say he’s the gatekeeper. He’s the one who helps make problems disappear.”
I stare at the far wall. “So why is he acting like someone is going to kill him?”
“Because Scott-Evans is his nephew,” Silas says.
The pieces start shifting in my head. Dean Stockton is Scott-Evans’ uncle. That part tracks. Family loyalty could explain his willingness for damage control where his nephew is concerned. A man convincing himself he’s protecting blood, not enabling a monster.
But something about it still doesn’t sit right.
“I know where your head’s going,” Silas cuts in before I can finish the thought. “A single incident? A dean might bury it. Convince himself it was a mistake.” He exhales through his nose. “But half a dozen?”
I nod slowly. “I can’t see someone risking their career like that—over and over—without a bigger reason. A dean doesn’t torch his own future unless there’s more at stake.”
“Exactly,” Titan interjects. “There’s something else we’re missing.”
“And I think I know exactly what that something is.”
A slow, knowing grin spreads across Silas’s face, sharp and deliberate.
“Dean Stockton has a son the same age as Scott-Evans.”
“A cousin?”
“I think it’s safe to say the cousin was the third man in the car that day that Missy Hale went missing,” Silas tells us. “They were apparently close at one point in university.”
“And what happened?” Titan interrupts. “You said they were?”
“You’re not going to believe this,” Silas whispers quietly into the room. “But Daniel Stockton disappeared about nine years ago.”
I try to make sense of it, but nothing lines up. There are too many moving parts. Too many gaps that refuse to close.
“What do you mean, he disappeared?” I ask quietly.
“His father filed a missing person report in September of 2016,” Silas says. His voice is steady, clinical. “According to the report, he never made it home from university. He vanished sometime between his last class and his residence. No confirmed sightings since.”
“Vanished?” I repeat quietly.
Silas nods once. “No bank activity. No phone pings after that week. No social media use. It’s as if he stepped off the map.”
I drag a hand down my face, the pieces clicking together in ways I don’t like. “And you don’t think that’s just a kid deciding to disappear?” I ask, forcing the question out.
“It’s possible,” Silas allows. “But unlikely. He’s a university kid and he hasn’t touched his bank accounts. ”
“Foul play?” Titan muses.
Silas agrees. “That’s what I’m thinking. If he were still alive, I would have found him.”
The room goes quiet again, and the silence settles over us like a dark cloak.
Titan shifts beside me, his presence grounding, immovable.
“I think it’s time we speak to the dean,” he tells me.
I don’t disagree with him, but I think there’s one more very crucial step in this story before we meet with the dean.
And as the weight of what I have to do settles in the pit of my stomach, I know one thing with absolute certainty: whatever was buried back in 2016 is no longer content to stay buried. We’re standing at the edge of it now.