Chapter Twenty
Thorne
I call Detective Mike Brennan from my office at Blackstone.
It’s a little after nine when he answers.
We've known each other for fifteen years since I hired him as private security for a corporate event and discovered he was better at gathering information than watching doors.
And he's good at keeping his mouth shut.
He retired from Louisville Metro PD five years ago, but he still has contacts. People who owe him favors.
"Blackstone," he answers. "What do you need?"
"Jeffrey Williams. An EPA inspector was arrested this morning. I need to know where he is."
“Give me a second.” There’s rustling in the background and he’s back. "The environmental fraud case?" A pause. I hear typing. "He made bail by early afternoon. Released on his own recognizance. Ankle monitor. They've got him at his home address, 2847 Oakmont Drive in Shelbyville.”
"He's already out? That was fast.”
“If they let him leave, it means he's cooperating. They want him comfortable, not locked up." More typing.
"Anything else?"
"EPA Criminal Investigation Division is running the case. They’re pursuing a public corruption angle because of the bribery charges." Brennan pauses. "Thorne, if this is about Blackstone Bourbon, you need to be careful. Williams is a federal cooperator now. They'll be watching who he talks to.”
"Noted. Thanks. And I never called tonight."
“Yup. It's just been me and a Keeping Up with the Kardashians marathon all evening."
I snort. "I'm not sure you should admit that if anyone asks, Brennan." His laughter cuts off when I end the call.
I pull up Raymond Voss's contact. That's a number I haven't called in three years. Not since he drew up that airtight contract for the bet I'd forced Sebastian into. The one where I lost more than I'd wagered.
Voss specializes in deals that exist in legal grey areas. Contracts that can't be easily broken. Arrangements that benefit from ambiguity. He's not mob-connected, not overtly criminal, just flexible. Pragmatic. Willing to draft documents that other attorneys won't touch.
The kind of lawyer Dad used regularly. The kind I swore I'd stop using after what I did to Sebastian.
He answers on the second ring. "Blackstone." His tone is cautious. Surprised. "Didn't expect to hear from you."
“I need you to make a call.”
“What kind of call?”
“An EPA inspector was arrested this morning. Jeffrey Williams. He's out on bail at his home in Shelbyville. I need to know what he's planning to tell prosecutors. And whether he needs legal representation.”
Another pause, longer this time. “You want me to arrange representation for him?”
“Possibly. Tell him you're reaching out on behalf of an old acquaintance who will cover the cost of the best criminal defense attorney in the state. Someone who specializes in getting federal sentences reduced.”
"And if he agrees, and this mysterious benefactor pays for his attorney, you know that payment is traceable. If prosecutors suspect witness tampering, they'll subpoena records and follow the money. Shell companies and intermediaries only work until investigators start digging."
"So don't give them a reason to dig."
"Williams is the reason. He's a cooperating witness. They'll ask how he's suddenly affording top-tier representation.”
“I’m sure this isn’t the first call you’ve gotten of this nature. You can figure out a way.”
“But if they do ask and he lies, that's a crime. If he tells the truth—”
“Then I’m exposed,” I cut in. “Which is where I’m at now. I need to know if he’s going to keep the Blackstone name out of it. And I can’t control that from a distance.”
Voss is quiet for a moment. "You understand what this is. This isn't a risk. It’s evidence."
He's not wrong. It is risky. But this is where we are at now. This problem needs to be contained.
"Can you handle it or not?"
“I can handle anything, Blackstone. I'm just making sure you understand the price if this goes sideways.” He knows I’ll pay, so he doesn’t wait for a reply.
“I’ll structure the payment through enough layers that it'll take them months to trace. By then, Williams will have gotten his deal and moved on. No one looks too hard at closed cases.”
"Good. Make the call."
The line goes dead.
I set the phone on my desk and wait. At this hour my office feels like a tomb. Too quiet. Too still. Like it's waiting for me to bury whatever's left of the man I could have been.
My phone lights up with a text from Ivy. I don't read it.
Minutes later, Voss calls back.
"He'll talk. But not over the phone." A pause. "Wants a face to face."
"Why?"
"No idea. Just said he'd be up." A beat. "But I assume he's being careful. Probably figures his phone is already tapped."
Fuck. It's one thing for Voss to call on my behalf. That's attributable to me, but there's distance. Plausible deniability. But me showing up in person? That's direct contact with a federal witness. If anyone sees me, that's evidence.
Touching Williams right now isn't damage control — it's a gift to the prosecution.
But what choice do I have? I have to know what he knows. What if there are more properties besides the one Madison told us about?
I grab my keys. "Meet me there."
"Blackstone." The word lands like a hand on my arm. "Think about what you're doing. It's unlikely, but physical surveillance isn't off the table. He's only been out a few hours, so it would cost them to set it up, but I wouldn't rule it out entirely."
“It's a risk I'll have to take.”
“Do you want to bet on a probably? What we have now is defensible. I'm an attorney reaching out about legal representation. That's above board. But you show up at a cooperating witness's home? That’s hard to explain away."
“Hard, but not impossible?” I ask.
“For me? Not impossible.”
I stare at the file on my desk. Madison's careful notes about the contaminated land. The bribes. The timeline that shows Dad knew exactly what he was buying.
The timeline I should have caught four years ago when Dad told me about the acquisition. Should have questioned why the land was priced so low. Should have asked what he was hiding.
But I didn't. I looked away. Let him handle it. And now Sebastian, who actually gives a damn about doing things right, is paying for my willful blindness.
"Set up the meeting," I say. "I'll be there in under an hour."
“This is going to cost you.”
“Everything does.” I grab my keys and head for the door. My phone buzzes again. Another text from Ivy.
I silence it.
The Blackstone name has to stay out of this. Everything Sebastian's built depends on it.
I owe him that.
Hell, I owe him more, but this is what I have to give.
The drive to Shelbyville takes almost an hour. Plenty of time to regret this night, but not enough to figure out a way around this meeting.
Voss's black Mercedes is already parked down the street from Williams’s place when I pull up. It’s expensive enough to stand out in this neighborhood, discreet enough not to scream "lawyer." The same is true of my Audi.
He meets me on the sidewalk. "Last chance to turn around."
“I can’t.”
“Okay, but let me do the talking. You're here to show good faith, nothing more. Don't make any explicit offers,” Voss says. “I’ll check if he’s wearing a wire.”
I nod and we start toward Williams’s porch.
His house is modest. A small ranch with blue shutters, a cracked driveway, and a lawn that needs mowing.
Not what I expected for someone who'd been taking bribes for years.
Either he was smart enough to live below his means, or he'd already spent the money.
We walk to the faded blue door. I knock.
Williams answers wearing sweatpants and a University of Kentucky t-shirt. He looks older than his sixty-two years. Tired. Scared. There are dark circles hollowing out the space beneath his eyes. An ankle monitor bulges under his left pant leg.
“Figured it’d be a Blackstone.” He steps back. "Come in."
The living room is small, cluttered with old furniture and framed photos of grandkids. A TV plays quietly in the corner. Ironically, some crime show. He mutes it.
"Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"
"We're fine," Voss says.
"Right. Of course." Williams sits in a worn armchair, gesturing to the couch. "I appreciate you both coming."
I remain standing. "Let's not pretend this is a social call, Williams. You wanted me here. I'm here. What do you want?"
He studies me for a long moment. "Your father and I had an arrangement. For four years, I looked the other way. Made sure the right permits got approved, the right inspections got delayed. He paid me well for it."
"I'm aware."
"But Louis is dead. And I'm looking at ten years minimum." He leans forward, hands clasped. "The DA froze my accounts. I can't afford a decent lawyer. Public defender they assigned me looks like he graduated last week."
Voss motions for Williams to stand up. He lifts the old man’s shirt and pats him down. Williams's jaw tightens but he doesn't protest. Voss looks at me and nods.
“Go ahead,” I tell him.
"I can recommend someone. Top criminal defense attorney in the state. Specializes in federal cooperation deals. Mr. Blackstone will cover all fees,” Voss says.
Williams doesn't look at Voss. His eyes stay locked on mine. "In exchange for what?"
“For leaving his family out of your testimony,” Voss replies.
Williams’s expression shifts from surprise to understanding to calculation. "The police know I took bribes," he says carefully. "They have my bank records."
"But they don't know who paid you. Not all of them, anyway.” Voss gives me a look. I keep going anyway. “I’m sure my father isn’t the only one who lined your pockets.”
“Some of it was cash. Meetings at Churchill Downs, Keeneland. Hard to trace,” Williams explains.“They're going to ask. They're going to want names."
"And you're going to cooperate fully," I say.
“Give them names. Help them build their case. Just don’t include the Blackstone name,” I finish.
Williams leans back, his ankle monitor shifting. "You're asking me to have selective memory."
"I'm asking you to be accurate about what you can prove. Cash payments from years ago, no paper trail, multiple sources, details get fuzzy. I'll make sure you have a lawyer good enough to sell that story. Someone who can get your sentence reduced, maybe even keep you out of prison entirely."
"And if I say no?"
I wait until his gaze meets mine. "Then you go to trial with a public defender who's juggling fifty other cases. You lose. You spend the next decade in a place that makes this house look like a mansion." I pause. "And when you get out, I'll remember you went against me."
It's not quite a threat. Not quite a promise. Just a statement of fact.
Voss scoots forward, elbows on knees. “And if you forgo his help and mention this conversation to anyone, I’ll make sure that any time you spend in prison will be very unpleasant.”
Williams’s gaze shifts from Voss to me. “I met Louis a few times over the years.
At those tracks you mentioned. He had this way of deciding what was best for everyone without bothering to ask them.
Convinced himself he was protecting the family when really, he just couldn't stand letting anyone else be in control.
" He looks at me. “Tell me, did you ask your family if they wanted you to handle me? Or did you decide for them?”
"Stay in your lane, Williams. We're here to talk about your charges, not my family."
Williams is quiet for a long moment. Then says, “One more question.”
I wait.
"The green initiative. Sebastian's environmental program. Is it real, or PR bullshit?"
"It's real," I say. "Sebastian didn't know about any of this. He genuinely wants to make the company sustainable. He's a good man, trying to do good.”
"Unlike you."
"Unlike me," I agree.
Williams nods slowly. "Okay."
"Okay?" I repeat.
"I'll take your offer. I'll cooperate with prosecutors, give them names on other cases. Just not yours." He stands.
"One more thing." I stop him before he can wrap this up. "This isn't the only acquisition my father made through your office. Are there others I need to know about?"
Williams meets my eyes. "No. Just the one."
I exhale. One less fire to put out.
He walks us to the door. Hand on the frame, he stops. “But Blackstone? You and I both know what this makes you...”
I don't give him the satisfaction of a response. But Williams isn't finished.
“Your father would be proud,” Williams says, trailing behind us.
I stop, backtracking into his personal space. “I don’t give a shit what he’d be proud of.” Shaking my head, I turn back to the door. “And that’s the difference between him and me. I’m not proud of what I’m doing, but some things have to be done.”
Williams holds my gaze. "Maybe there's hope for you yet."
“Doubt it.” I walk out.
Voss catches up to me on the driveway. “What happened to letting me do the talking? " He glances back at Williams's house, then at me. "What you said in there was explicit quid pro quo. That's not defensible."
"He needed to hear it from me."
"What he heard was a confession to witness tampering." Voss's jaw works. "I checked him for a wire, but I didn’t check the whole house."
"If he were recording, he wouldn't have taken the deal."
"You don't know that."
"No," I agree. "I don't." I get in my Audi.
My phone lights up. More texts from Ivy. The dashboard clock reads 12:47 a.m.
I silence it.
She'll have questions. Where I've been. What I've done.
But the less she knows, the cleaner she stays if this goes sideways.
She won't like it.
But if the FBI comes calling, they'll find me. Not her. Not Sebastian.
Just me.