27. Lex
27
LEX
N umbers and code never lie. People do. They lie, cheat, and steal—borrowing stories and pain from others to prop themselves up. My father taught me that. I used to hate the man, but if it wasn’t for him, I never would have gotten close to Juliet. If it wasn’t for him, I would never have found my power in the numbers.
They fly across the multiple screens of my secret room, throwing various colors onto the edge of my desk and the pictures on the wall. Pictures of her . Clicking a button, I set the next algorithm into attack mode and watch the scan. Multi-millionaires always have so many accounts. Personal. Business. Domestic. International. Hidden. Public.
If there’s any sign of Allen Donovan’s innocence, I’ll find it, and if he is innocent, there will be evidence. The numbers can be manipulated, the code can be corrupted, but at the end of the day, they’re all just strings twisted together by human hands. I’ll unravel them and find the truth. Not for him, but for her.
My phone buzzes, the screen lighting up and distracting me from the monitors. Swiping the green button to answer, I hit the speaker.
“Talk.”
“Have you found anything yet?” The man on the other end of the line hisses into the receiver as if he doesn’t want to be overheard. He likely doesn’t. Allen Donovan isn’t supposed to have a cell phone in prison.
“I’m working on it.” I use the mouse to move the code scanner to one side as it deep dives through all of his current and past financials. When the government came in, they really took him to the cleaners. What’s interesting, though, are the accounts attached to the business that don’t have his name on them. Did Morpheus Calloway know what Donovan was doing? If he is guilty, that is.
“Well, work faster,” Donovan snaps. “I can’t be here for much longer. My trial date was moved up, and if I don’t have anything to show to the court, I’m?—”
“What’s the new date?” I cut him off, frowning as I move into a new tab and pull up a list of all the court sessions planned for the next several months. I never got a ping that his trial was moved up. That shouldn’t be right.
“What?” Donovan sounds shaky.
I grit my teeth. “What is the new date for your trial?” I bite out the question. He gives it to me in panting breaths and I type it in.
Nothing. I try again. Again, there’s nothing.
“You’re wrong,” I tell him even as I type in his name to see if there’s another way to find it.
“No, they just told me this morning,” he insists. It’s possible they haven’t updated his date online, but if they’ve already told him, then it should be here, especially since the date he’s given me is weeks ahead of what the original trial should have been.
Is someone rushing it for a reason?
“I will double your pay,” Donovan says. “I need that evidence.”
No amount of money could make me work faster, and I roll my eyes at the absurd notion that it could, but I contemplate my screens for a moment more before replying. Perhaps I’m looking in the wrong place.
“Donovan,” I bark. The man releases a squeak that reminds me of a mouse and then stutters out a response.
“Y-yes?”
“Tell me about your wife. Did she have anything to do with your business?”
From what I know of Juliet’s mother, she might have been a trophy wife in the beginning, but as she’d aged, Allen Donovan hadn’t traded in. I’d seen far too many wealthy men not give a care to their families or first wives, but there had never been any sign that Allen and Denise Donovan had been anything but cordial. No marital strife. No assumed mistresses. No arguments. Yet, at the first sign of trouble, she disappears, leaving their daughter behind?
“I-I thought you said I shouldn’t talk about my family,” Donovan says.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I resist the urge to slam a fist down on the screen of my phone. “I said not to talk about your fucking daughter,” I remind him. “Tell me about your wife—did she have anything to do with the business? Have you heard from her? Do you know where she’s located?”
I can track her down myself, but it’ll take time. If she’s going under a different name, then it’ll take longer.
“I-I didn’t even know she’d left Silverwood until m-m—until someone visited and told me,” Donovan shifts his words at the last second, proving that he’s capable of learning from his mistakes and not telling me more about his contact with Juliet—even if I already know. “My business partner didn’t tell me. He hasn’t been answering my calls anymore. They think I’m guilty. I’m not!”
Pressing my hand flat on the desk, I draw in a breath. A deep one. I inhale and keep inhaling until my chest threatens to pop. This man is Juliet’s father, I remind myself. I cannot kill him. Juliet would not want me to kill him. What Juliet wants, she gets. I cannot kill my future father-in-law.
Cold ice cuts through my annoyance. “The business, Donovan,” I repeat. “Family she could have. Give me something.”
“She—you don’t think she framed me, do you?” Donovan’s breath hitches and I mentally prepare myself to refrain from throwing the cell across the room. “She wouldn’t. That fucking bitch owes me everything. I—” Thankfully, I don’t have to cut him off, he does it for me. “Yes,” he says. “She has family in California.”
“Names.” My fingers return to the keyboard as he lists them off as well as any information he has on them. As I plug in my searches and send out little bots in scan mode to report on any activity Denise Donovan has had in the last several months, I blow out a breath.
“Will you have something by the trial?” Donovan finally asks.
“When I know, you’ll know,” I say just before I hit “end call.” The silence that fills my secret space is soothing to my frayed nerves. I hate having to deal with clients, especially those I can’t get rid of like Allen Donovan.
As I consider the real possibility that Juliet’s father could have been framed, I let my fingers fly across my keyboard as I look into a secondary matter. I pull up Brandon Pillard and Avery McDonald’s all known social media profiles. A moment later, I’ve hacked into each and every one and wouldn’t you know it, their lives contain a plethora of secrets. Useless, annoying secrets that won’t do more than humiliate and embarrass them temporarily, but I collect them all regardless.
Nude photos. Videos. Nasty, cruel statements of friends and family. Rumors abound in school settings regardless of the location and it’s clear that both Avery and Bran are mindless drones more concerned with their own images than actual substance. A quick search of their information brings up more and more.
It’s too easy to collect everything and send a few telltale details, scheduled to be released at small intermittent intervals for maximum amusement—for me at least. A leaked nude here. A confirmation of a rumor there. Over the next several months, Avery McDonald will find that her once well-maintained image will collapse under the weight of the things she’s done and said. All the nasty words in private messages about supposed friends—revealed to those friends. Sleeping with her parents’ driver? Her math tutor?
My upper lip curls back in disgust as I find another admission. Even Silverwood Prep’s football coach? Who the fuck isn’t this girl sleeping with? How has she not gotten an STD—oh, wait. There are the results. I snort. Chlamydia and gonorrhea. Curable, at least. I wonder what the rest of Silverwood Prep would think of her though…
I set another reveal up and schedule it to be released. The slow drive towards ostracism and insanity set for Juliet’s ex-best friend is complete. Next … Brandon Pillard.
An hour or so later, I find my mind drifting back to Allen Donovan and more importantly, Denise Donovan. Did she leave because she knew who really embezzled the funds? If they’d gone to her, then my code would’ve already snagged it. I glance up at the monitors just to make sure that it hasn't been found during the length of my conversation with Allen.
The numbers continue to scroll. Bank accounts and all other manner of ways to hide and squirrel money away. The one thing that trips people up each and every time is relying on comfort, clinging to what they know. If Denise had actually been the one to take the money from the Donovan-Calloway business, then she would have had a plan for it. Yet, there’s nothing. Not yet, anyway.
Seconds stretch into minutes as I watch the numbers on the screen move. A few are highlighted and dumped into a separate folder for me to take a closer look at later, but overall if Denise Donovan really did steal money and disappear, she’s damn good. Too good.
Another thought occurs to me. How will Juliet take it if I find out her mother is the real culprit? My chest clenches. I want to hope it’s not the case, but hope is a futile thing to have. You either don’t have or you do. Hoping for something doesn’t make it true. If it did, I’d have had Juliet in my arms and my bed the moment I knew what my cock was meant for.
In a perfect world, I’d have never needed to learn the skills I presently have just to know her in the years we were separated. In a perfect world, I would’ve been born into wealth and privilege and been at Juliet’s side all along.
Even if that’s true, though, I don’t know that I’d ever go back. Because in that perfect world, I would have never met my brothers. Looking over my shoulder, I spot the picture I’d secretly taken of the two of them and Juliet. It’d been during our tour of Eastpoint and all three had been walking together, her face turned up to Nolan’s and his down to hers as Gio attempted to snag her hand only to be rebuffed.
There is no such thing as a perfect world, but if there was—maybe I’m already in it because at the end of all this, I’ll have them. I’ll have my brothers and I will have her.