（twenty days ago）
Los Angeles
T he Prius twitched through traffic beneath a procession of swaying palm trees arched toward the sun. I shouldn’t have been driving—I hadn’t slept. I was too wound up, too distracted. My hands were clammy, even with the AC blasting. But we were on our way downtown to meet Eric’s art dealer, George, who’d arranged a passport and a place for him to stay in Mexico.
“So, your father—John—” A small shake of my head. I still couldn’t quite get used to this. “Why are you afraid of him? Is it because of Summer?”
“God, no.” He laughed. “Summer’s just a fly…a diversion. The irony that after everything, she’d be the one to nearly succeed in killing me…” He laughed in disbelief.
Irritation prickled my spine. He was asking a lot of me and had given me almost nothing, promising to tell me everything once we were on the road. I yanked the wheel and gassed it into a faster-moving lane. “So, what then?”
“Do you remember last year, a shopping center in Colombia collapsed while it was being built, killing four people and injuring dozens?”
I accelerated through a yellow light. “No.”
“It was pretty big news, but it wasn’t in the States, so it didn’t stay in the cycle for long. Anyway, it was my dad’s company that was building the mall. There were a million corners he cut that resulted in the collapse—the concrete they were using was substandard and not suited to hold that amount of weight; there weren’t enough steel-reinforcement bars; the plans were changed once the permits had been obtained—common practices for him. He, of course, denied any wrongdoing. There was an investigation afterward, but he managed to bribe his way out of it, and eventually the blame was placed on the contractor.”
“Jesus, that’s…beyond horrifying.” I stole a glance at him just as the car in front of me suddenly stopped. I jammed on the brakes, coming to rest inches from its bumper. I took a deep breath and looked over at Eric, who was wincing in pain from the seat belt. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He took a deep breath. “I learned the truth only because the families of the men who died wanted some kind of reparation and had hired lawyers who were working their way through the different names and companies associated with Lionshare, which is how they found their way to me. They showed me the amount of evidence they had amassed—it was staggering. I went to my father and asked him to make it right with them, but he refused. He said that admitting any involvement in the collapse would be catastrophic for Lionshare and tried to convince me of how much I had to lose if the company went under. When he saw that line of reasoning wasn’t going to work with me, he warned me to let it go—for their sake and for my own.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t let it go. I went to Dylan to try to get him to help me investigate—he used to be a journalist, and he had access to records because of his position at Lionshare—but he stonewalled me. He thought I was out of my mind for risking my life for these people I’d never met, when there was no way I was going to win.”
“So that’s why you guys had been fighting.”
“The latest reason anyway—and the worst. But I didn’t give up. I found a guy with a conscience who worked for the committee tasked with investigating the collapse. He felt so guilty about the whole thing that, against his better judgment, he was willing to go on record and provide proof of the crimes and bribes my father and his men had ordered.” He pointed. “Turn here.”
I made a right onto a one-way street that stretched past city hall into the heart of downtown.
“I flew down there two weeks ago to collect the evidence and interview the guy myself before finding a journalist to write the story; then I stored everything in my place here and went to my show in San Francisco. When I got home, my loft had been ransacked, and all my evidence and the interview tapes were gone.” He pointed at an alley up ahead. “Left there.”
He took the jeans he’d been wearing last night out of the backpack I’d loaned him and rifled through the pockets as I gunned it through a break in the traffic across three lanes, into the neatly swept alley. Tall buildings towered above us, casting deep shadows that kept the narrow passage cool. “Stop here,” Eric indicated.
I brought the Prius to a halt in front of an unmarked steel door, and he handed me a folded picture. “They left this.”
I unfolded it and gasped. It was a photo of a dead man, his white button-down stained red by the blood from bullet holes in his chest. “Oh my God,” I said. “Who is this?”
“My informant.”
“Jesus,” I breathed. So this was the trouble Eric had gotten himself caught up in, and it was far worse than anything I could have imagined. I returned the photo to him, and he carefully placed it in the pocket of his jeans. “This was John’s doing?”
“Has to be. But I’m not letting it go. It’s only a matter of time before something like that collapse happens again. Summer actually did me a favor pushing me off that cliff. She gave me a chance to disappear until I can figure out a better plan to bring him down.”
“But how did he know you were talking to this informant?”
“I don’t know. Initially I assumed Dylan had told him of my intention, but he didn’t know the specifics. John could have been in my email or tapped my phone—he has the capability I’m sure—though I was careful. Or it could be as simple as someone on my informant’s end who learned he was working with me and ratted him out.”
I tried to recall whether Eric and I had ever emailed or talked on the phone—I didn’t think we had. We’d used apps mostly, which even with my limited knowledge of such things I knew were harder to hack than email. Not, I reminded myself, that anyone besides Summer had reason to be suspicious of our interaction. “Does Summer have your phone?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Which means if anyone becomes suspicious there was foul play involved in your disappearance, she’ll find a way to turn it in, implicating me.” The realization hit me like a bus. “Fuck. You’re gonna have to figure this shit out before I get thrown in jail for your murder.”
“I’m not gonna let that happen.” He grabbed my hand, forcing me to meet his eye. “I promise.”
The steel door in the wall opened and a striking Latina in a black tunic dress emerged, a messenger bag slung across her shoulder. Her long dark hair was swept up in a messy bun, her lips stained red. She smiled and waved.
“That’s George?” I asked, surprised.
“The one and only,” he confirmed.
She peered into the car, her eyes going wide behind her black-framed glasses as she saw Eric.
“ Dios mío ,” she said, getting into the backseat. “You look terrible.”
“Thank you,” he said dryly. “You sure you weren’t followed?”
“Yes. I did just what you said. What happened to you?”
“Summer pushed me off a cliff.”
Her jaw dropped.
“My sentiments exactly,” he said. “But that’s the least of my problems. My father wants me dead, too.”
“Welcome to the club. My father ever escapes from prison, I am—” She drew a finger across her throat.
It was disconcerting yet grimly charming, how lightly she alluded to her own demise. I extended my hand through the center divide. “I’m Belle.”
She flashed a somber smile. “Thank you for taking care of my friend. I’m sorry I can’t go with you. Mexico is still too dangerous for me, even with my new name.”
“George isn’t your real name?” I asked.
She laughed. “I was Maria in a past life.”
“George and I met here,” Eric explained. “But later figured out our illustrious fathers had collaborated on a development in Mexico many years ago—”
“That drained a marshland and displaced an entire village,” she elaborated.
“Small world,” I commented.
“Yes,” she agreed. “At the top, all the most powerful men are in each other’s pockets, though they are always claiming otherwise.”
“And now she somehow miraculously convinces suckers to pay far more for my art than it’s worth,” he finished.
She passed him the messenger bag. “One hundred thousand. You have a couple of pieces pending, so there should be more soon. The passport and the key to my friend’s place in Rosarito are in the front pocket. He understands the need for confidentiality.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Eric said.
“You’ve done more for me.” She waved his gratitude away. “I had a weird message from your brother yesterday. I haven’t called him back.”
“Did you save it?” Eric asked.
She brought up Dylan’s voice mail on her phone and hit play. Dylan’s voice was tinny over the speakerphone. “Hi, George. It’s Dylan. Please call me back as soon as possible. It’s important.”
“Can you call him now?” Eric asked. “I want to hear what he has to say.”
She hit call back. As the other end rang, Eric mouthed, You haven’t seen me. You know nothing.
“Dylan, it’s George Ramirez, returning,” George said into the phone.
“Right.” Dylan cleared his throat. “Hi, George. Thanks for calling me back. I’m sorry to—”
“What’s going on?” George asked, feigning concern.
“It’s Eric. He—” Dylan stopped himself, taking a breath. “You haven’t heard from him recently, have you?”
“No,” she said. “Not since his show last week.”
“And how did he seem, at his show?”
“Fine. Normal,” George replied. “Why, Dylan? What’s up?”
“He…They’re saying he may have killed himself.”
“Oh God,” George cried. Eric signaled for her to find out more. “When did this—what happened?”
“A few days ago,” Dylan said. “He sent a suicide email to his ex-girlfriend and then he disappeared.”
Eric and I exchanged a glance.
“Disappeared?” George asked.
“They found his car in a park in Ventura. They’re treating it as a missing persons case right now, but—”
“So he could be alive,” George interjected.
“We have people looking for him,” he said somberly. “It’s unbelievable, really. I can’t imagine he’d do something like this, but…I know how close you guys were. I should have called sooner. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to—”
“ Mierda ,” George said. “Do you need my help with anything?”
“My dad’s out there right now, dealing with everything,” Dylan said, glum. “He’s trying to retrace his steps. He asked me to tell you to please hold on to any money that comes in from his art. We’ll figure out what to do with it when we have time.”
“Okay. I’m so sorry, Dylan. Please keep me posted.”
Voices in the background. “I have to go,” he said. “Take care.”
The line went dead, and George looked up at us expectantly. “He sounded upset.”
Eric nodded slowly. “Doesn’t mean I can trust him.”
“You guys should hit the road if you wanna make it down by sunset,” George said. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
“I’ll text you from the burner when I get it,” Eric replied.
George kissed him on both cheeks. “Take care.”
I watched her disappear into the building before pulling away from the curb. “Dylan doesn’t believe the suicide story,” I said. “Yesterday when I spoke to him, he mentioned something about it feeling off and being afraid you’d gotten caught up in something.”
“I didn’t think he would,” Eric said. “He knows me too well. And he knew what I’d gotten into with my dad. But I’m surprised he said anything to you.”
“He didn’t mention specifics. Did you tell him about what happened to the informant?”
“Not yet. I wanted to confront him over it, but I didn’t get a chance before Summer tried to off me.”
“It sounded like he was attempting to warn you through George that your father’s looking for you,” I ventured. “Maybe you should give him a chance to help you.”
“That’s a stretch.” He shook his head. “Anyway, it’s too much of a risk. Even if he didn’t go running to John, he’s likely being monitored by him. Without a body, I doubt John believes the suicide story, either—probably thinks I tried to fake it. There’s no question he’s got people looking for me.”
I replayed the phone call with Dylan in my head as we wove through downtown traffic. He’d sounded distressed, concerned for his brother. And here I was, driving Eric to Mexico without any evidence that his crazy story was true. My instinct was to believe him, and I was pressing on with the expectation that he was sincere, but somewhere in the recesses of my mind, a nagging voice kept reminding me that he was involved with Summer. Could this all be some elaborate plan by the two of them to bilk John out of his money? I couldn’t quite come up with what that plan might be or how I fit in, but…
If I wanted to back out, this was my chance. Eric had his money now. I could leave him at the Metro station and try to forget this ever happened. I’d slowly phase Summer out of my life. Get new friends, normal friends. Friends whose fathers weren’t criminal billionaires, friends who didn’t try to kill their ex-boyfriends.
This was probably what I should do.
But I knew I wouldn’t.
I believed him. I couldn’t explain why, and I hoped it wasn’t just because of those sea-green eyes, but I wanted to help him.
“You’re quiet,” Eric observed.
“It’s a lot to process,” I said. I accelerated onto the freeway, only to find it crawling at a glacial pace. “How did Summer know John was your father?”
He sighed. “A number of his properties and subcompanies are owned through family trusts, so I get a constant stream of documents in the mail that have to do with Lionshare, most of which I ignore. But one morning, probably a year ago, I woke up to find Summer sitting at my desk, going through a pile of papers that had accumulated there—property deeds, stock info, signature requests, one of which was for the purchase of a new jet—things that had his name and info on them. I asked her what she was doing, and she said she was looking for a menu. She never again mentioned anything about it, and I didn’t think about it until last week, when Dylan called with the news that Summer was dating our father.”
“Weird. I talked to Dylan a bunch of times in the past week and he never once mentioned about Summer dating your dad to me.”
He shrugged and threw me a glance as if to say, See?
“At least he told youwhen he found out,” I pointed out. “She claimed to me that she met John when he randomly flew JetSafe.”
He frowned. “It wasn’t random. I did a little sleuthing after I found out they were dating. She applied for a job on his new jet and had one of his travel coordinators that she’d worked with at JetSafe call on her behalf and arrange for her to work a flight he was on.”
“So you do care.”
He stared out at the palm trees that peered over the top of the freeway wall. “No one likes to be used. Or lied to.”
“The funny thing—if any of this is funny—is that they truly are perfect for each other,” I said. “They’re both monsters.”