Chapter 26
DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS
NATE
Nate:
Need your help
Jay:
Do I need a shovel?
Nate:
Just bring gloves
Jay:
So no shovel then?
Nate:
No
Jay:
What did you do now?
Nate
Nothing. Yet.
Jay:
…
Nate:
It involves breaking and entering.
Jay:
Sign me the fuck up
I pull up to Jay’s place exactly at eleven, engine idling while I text him I’m here. My hands are steadier than they should be for what we’re about to do. That alone should concern me, but it doesn’t. That’s the part that really worries me.
Jay steps out of his building dressed head-to-toe in black like he’s auditioning for a low-budget heist movie—balaclava, dark hoodie, the whole incognito starter pack.
“Jesus,” I say as he slides into the passenger seat, bringing a gust of cold air with him. “You look like you’re about to rob a bank.”
“You said breaking and entering, didn’t you?” He grins, that sharp, reckless glint in his eyes. “Where exactly are we breaking into?”
“One of the Sullivan developments.”
“Ah, so we’re robbing the rich. I can live with that.” He pulls out his phone and opens the timer like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.
“How long do we have?”
“Twenty-five minutes, exactly. Adrian’s got the security cameras on a loop, but only for that long.”
“Tech boy came through, huh?” Jay whistles, genuinely impressed. “Remind me to buy him a beer.”
Adrian Di Laurentis is practically a ghost—I’ve only talked to him over text, a handful of times at most, but he works like he’s got a personal vendetta against half the big family names in Eden.
Why? No idea.
I didn’t ask and he didn’t offer, and honestly, I don’t care.
If he hates the same people I do—and he clearly does—then that’s good enough for me.
All I know is every time I’ve needed something, some kind of access, he’s delivered without hesitation, requesting only to keep him in the loop with findings. Some part of me senses he’s been waiting for someone to hit back at the people who’ve been untouchable for too long.
The drive is fifteen minutes of empty streets and the kind of silence that isn’t uncomfortable, just heavy.
When we pull up to the mansion, it sits behind wrought-iron gates that probably cost more than entire neighborhoods. All black metal and sharp points, built to keep people like us out.
Built to lock the truth in.
I punch in the code Jake gave me—his birthday, because Scott’s nothing if not sentimental in the most twisted ways—and the gates open with a slow, ominous groan.
Like the jaws of something ancient dragging itself awake.
“Timer starts now,” Jay says, tapping his phone. “Twenty-five minutes on the dot.”
The mansion is half-finished, all sharp edges, dark windows staring down at us like judgment. Tarps flutter across the construction equipment, shadows moving like something alive. The air smells like dust and cold concrete and the second we get to the front door, I can feel my pulse in my throat.
The key Jake gave me turns easily and then we’re inside.
“Holy shit,” Jay whispers. “This place is bigger than my entire apartment complex. And it’s just the fucking foyer.”
Everything is covered in white sheets, draped like the house is hiding its face. Chandeliers wrapped in plastic hang like crystal carcasses. Our footsteps echo—loud, sharp, intrusive.
“Looks like nobody’s worked on this place in months,” Jay says, brushing a hand over a dusty table.
“Fucking rich people hey,” he mutters. “I mean no offence or anything.”
“None taken.”
“They build these fuck-off mansions, get bored, then ditch them. Meanwhile my mom’s sleeping in her fucking car some nights.”
His voice cracks on the last word. Rage rides under it like static and it lodges in my chest, mixing with my own rage until I can’t separate the two.
I want to fix it.
I want to say something that matters.
But there’s nothing.
No apology in the world can touch that kind of damage.
We find the butler’s pantry—because of course there’s a butler’s pantry—and Jay just stops and stares.
“This pantry is literally the size of a department store,” he says. “Are they gonna hoard canned goods for the apocalypse?”
“Probably.” I check Jake’s annotated floorplan.
My hands aren’t steady anymore, they’re trembling like my body already knows what’s waiting for us.
“It’s behind here somewhere.”
Scott’s hidden safe is built into the wall behind the shelving like he’s playing a fucked-up game of hide-and-seek with evidence.
We move the shelves and Jay finds a latch.
The panel swings open and a safe the size of a small fridge stares back.
“Bingo.” Jay cracks his knuckles. “Please tell me Jake gave you the combination.”
“He did.”
I punch in the numbers—their wedding anniversary. Another twisted sentimental touch—and the lock clicks open.
Inside—
Nothing.
My blood goes cold and a slow freeze crawls up my spine.
There’s nothing in the safe. Not one file. Not one envelope. Not one scrap of the truth we came for. It’s empty. Scrubbed clean and almost sterile.
“Fuck!” Jay’s voice trembles with restrained fury. His fists clench so tight the tendons stand out under his skin. “That fucking bastard cleared everything out. Or Jake is seriously fucking with us right now.”
“This wasn’t Jake.” I shut the safe harder than I should. “Scott knew we were looking into him.”
Of course he knew because he’s been playing this game longer than any of us.
Jay goes quiet and the air around him sinks. I recognize the look spreading across his face—the disbelief, the betrayal, the humiliation of realizing you’ve been outmaneuvered.
“Time check,” I say because we need to move or we’re done.
Jay looks at his phone—and the color drains out of his face so fast it’s like watching someone bleed out.
“Three minutes.”
My body surges with adrenaline, my hands now won’t stop fucking shaking and my vision begins narrowing. We shove everything back—panel, shelving, footprints erased as best as we can manage.
Then we bolt.
We’re in the car with the gate moving shut when the timer hits zero. The chime sounds like a funeral bell.
Lights flicker on in the mansion behind us—the system rebooting, coming alive like something pissed off that we touched it.
“Fuck,” Jay groans, slamming back into his seat. “How the fuck did he know?”
“I don’t know.”
But I do.
Because if Scott knew we were coming here—knew the safe needed clearing out—then he didn’t just catch wind of me snooping. He knows Jake’s flipped.
The realization hits me dead cold. From what I know about Scott Sullivan, it’s that he doesn’t guess, he doesn’t assume. He knows. And if he knows Jake’s not in his corner anymore, then we’re not the ones in danger—Jake is. Scott doesn’t lose pieces without punishing the board.
He doesn’t tolerate disloyalty, he snuffs it out.
My chest tightens, heartbeat thudding so loud I can hear it in my ears. If Scott’s onto him… fuck. Jake has no idea what kind of storm he’s stepped into.
“I’m sorry,” I say, because the guilt is too much and it feels like my blood, my name, my DNA is the weapon that’s been killing Jay his whole life.
Jay turns on me like I just insulted his mother.
“Why the hell are you sorry?”
“Everything that happened to you, your mom, your home—I feel like—”
“Shut the fuck up before I punch you in the face,” he snaps—fierce, but not at me. “He’s the one I blame. Not you. Not even Jake. I just want this asshole to get what he fucking deserves.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, gripping the wheel until my knuckles go bone white. “He will. Even if it’s the last thing I do.”
Silence again but it shifts—just a little.
“Thanks, though,” I say after a minute.
“For what?”
“Helping me out. Not just this time. Every time.”
“I should be thanking you.”
“For what exactly?”
“For letting me help. For trusting me with this.” He gestures to everything—me, the road, the mess. “And in case it hasn’t been made clear already, I’ll always have your back.”
“Even if it one day involves shovels?”
“Especially then.”
We both laugh, it’s strained, but it’s real.
“So what now?” he asks.
I look ahead at the road stretching into nothing.
“I don’t know,” I admit, and the words taste like defeat.
But under it—under the exhaustion, the failure, the shaking in my hands—there’s something else starting to burn.
Something that feels a lot like war.