Chapter 6 Understanding The Situation
Greg didn’t look away from the screen as the names continued to populate, but one of them slowed everything down.
Not because it stood out at first glance—but because it didn’t.
It sat there like it belonged, like it had always been there, and that was the problem.
He leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing as he traced it back through the connections Keith had pulled up. “Run that again,” he said quietly.
Keith didn’t question it. Turning back to the computer, he filtered the chain, isolating the contact points.
“Alice Renner,” he said. “She pops up twice in proximity to Lance’s flagged movements.
Once indirect through a shell event sponsor, and once through a private guest list tied to a Marsden holding group. ”
Brick frowned. “That doesn’t make her dirty. That could just be social overlap.”
Greg shook his head once. “No. Not with her timing.” His finger tapped lightly against the desk. “She applied pressure on Carry right when all of this spiked. Not before. Not after. Right then.” He looked up. “That’s not coincidence. That’s placement.”
“Yeah, Greg, right,” Keith complained. “But who the hell is Alice Renner?”
“That’s Alice’s maiden name. I’d almost forgot that she’d been widowed these last four years.”
“Hang on there Greg!” Keith nearly exclaimed. “You’re telling me that Alice Wilkins was Alice Renner?”
“Yes, Keith. She and Fred were good friends back at Christian Academy Prep.” He ran his hand through his hair.
“I can’t believe I missed that the first time through.
Fred insisted we hire Alice since her husband was recovering from Cancer Treatments, so David and I agreed, thus founding Pimico with a solid HR presence.
I knew she was getting bitter since her husband’s death on Independence Day four years ago. ”
“Hold on!” Brick interrupted. “Independence Day four years ago?”
“Yeah,” Greg replied with confusion.
“Her husband wasn’t Joseph Wilkins, by chance, was he?” Brick interrogated.
“He was,” Greg cautiously replied. “Why?”
“He was over Ninety Thousand Dollars in debt to the Pendergast Family for underground betting on horse races. He had his legs broke, but instead of it just injuring him,,,”
“What?!” Keith interrupted. “Alice is in debt to the Mafia?”
“Well,” Brick hesitated. “That’s probably how they see it. Joseph bled out because the bone cut his Femoral Artery. They have probably been on her for the money since.” He stroked his chin. “That’s overlap for you.”
“So, then Alice wasn’t doing this out of spite,” Greg concluded. “That means that they’ve been on her case for years. How did we miss this?”
“Because she’s been contacted not by the Marsdens or Pendergast Family directly since Joseph died.
Rather, they’ve used intermediaries and go-betweens.
My good friend Marvin who got hurt during that ambush on the return of Grace and Carry from hiding for the Grand Jury,” he paused.
“Marvin has been watching this situation for a long while. He never mentioned the name Wilkins either.” Brick stood still thinking.
“I’ll follow up with Marvin, and you guys quietly find out what you can from Alice. ”
“Keith,” Greg quickly cut in. “I need you to do this as gently as possible. I need the information as soon as possible, but do it gently. Let Alice know that we’re ready to help her in any way possible, including paying off that debt if we need to.”
“Are you kidding me, Greg? Pay off the debt? Won’t that raise the alarm?” Keith protested.
“Maybe so, but tell her we’ll do whatever she needs to do to solve this.” Greg started pacing in the office, hands clasped behind his back. “She needs to know that we don’t hold anything against her, and that she still has our full confidence. It’s no wonder Carry was being pressured by Alice.”
“WHOAH! Greg that’s a big leap there,” Keith said. “She’s been a crotchety old lady since I’ve been here.”
“You came on just before her husband died,” Greg mused. “She used to be sweet. She aged so much while Joseph went through cancer treatments, but she’s actually our age.”
“ALICE WILKINS?” Keith asked dumbfounded. “You mean she was in our class?”
“And quite unpopular,” Greg recalled. “Clumsy, had those big braces and the rim horn glasses from the fifties.”
“That was Alice?” Keith replied in astonishment. “I remember her. But wasn’t her name Jane Renner?”
“That’s why she started going by Alice after the eye surgery and her braces being removed. She wanted a whole new identity. Not that I can blame her for that.” Greg paused. “We digress Gentlemen. We each have a job now.”
“What’s your job?” Brick asked, looking a little lost and confused about everything.
“I need to go gather information from Veronica, and try to speak with Carry if I can, while you check with Marvin and Keith here,” he thumbed at him, “deals with Alice.”
“Sounds like we have our marching orders,” Keith confirmed. “Are you up for this, Brick.”
“I was born for this!” he adamantly stated. “We’ll stay in touch, through that new app that Andy installed.”
“Right, Brick. You make sure you stay safe,” Keith cautioned. “I think we are opening a whole new can of worms with this."
"I’d have to agree with that assessment. I’ll see you gentlemen later,” Brick said as he gave a wave and departed the office.
“Greg,” Keith started and waited for him to stop pacing and look at him. “You need to be just as cautious. I know that Veronica is clean, but those girls she hired may not be so innocent.”
“I hear you, bud.” Greg nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on my six, and you do the same.”
“Will do, bossman.” Keith nodded as Greg turned then left the office quickly.
Greg moved through the lobby of Pimico without slowing, the weight of what they had just uncovered settling into something sharper now—more defined.
Alice wasn’t random. She wasn’t bitter for no reason.
She was being leaned on, used, positioned.
And if she was positioned… then everything around Carry hadn’t just been pressure.
It had been directed. That thought stayed with him as he pushed through the front doors and into the open air.
The late morning sun hit harder than he expected, but he barely registered it as he crossed the walkway to the Parking Garage.
He unlocked his Camaro without thinking as he approached it, his mind turning things over.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car, backing up carefully before pulling away.
His mind wasn’t on the drive—it was already ahead of it.
Veronica. The timing of her move. The speed of the campaign.
The way Carry had been pulled out and placed somewhere else just as everything else began to spike.
The drive to Overland Park gave him just enough time to run it again in his head without distraction.
Alice tied indirectly to the Marsdens. Pressure on Carry at the exact moment Lance’s movement peaked.
Veronica stepping in with a clean offer and immediate rollout.
Public attention rising while something quieter moved underneath it.
Two fronts, just like he said. But now there was something connecting them—not directly, not cleanly… but close enough to matter.
He turned into the studio complex, slowing as the building came into view.
‘Veronique didn’t do anything halfway—and it clearly showed in this action,’ was running through his mind.
He recalled how clean the architecture had modified that run down building.
Glass and steel in symmetry, with a controlled entry.
Everything about it said precision, image, intention.
This was clearly more than her escape from music.
It was the way she was creating it—Her Brand.
His mind shifted back as he focused on the studio ahead of him.
‘This was Veronica LaFayette—Singer and songwriter. Total Performer,’ he thought to himself and then remembered more.
‘Greg, I want a life away from singing. I want a family, I want you.’ The vision of her kissing him right after that lingered in his mind.
Greg parked and stepped out, his eyes already scanning the structure as he moved toward the entrance.
This wasn’t Pimico. This wasn’t reactive.
This was built to shape what people saw before they even stepped inside. Entertainment.
He pushed through the doors, moving down the hallway toward the lounge.
The atmosphere hit immediately—muted soundproofing, low ambient music filtering through the walls somewhere deeper inside, voices just barely audible beyond closed doors.
Controlled. Focused. The security guard looked up, recognizing him almost instantly. “Good morning, Mr. Garrelson.”
“Morning,” Greg replied, not breaking stride. “Veronica in?”
“She’s in Studio A,” the guard answered. “Recording session. She’s asked not to be interrupted.”
Greg nodded once. That didn’t surprise him. “Anyone with her?” he asked.
“Aarie is in with her,” she replied. “Production team as well.”
Greg’s jaw tightened slightly—not frustration, just recalibration. Timing again. “I suppose James is in there too?”
“That’s correct, Mr. Garrelson. The lounge is open if you want to wait,” he said, pointing to the door just a few feet away.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll wait, but I’d like to check on her first.”
“You can peek in through the outer windows, but don’t enter. She needs to not be interrupted on this recording session. Direct orders from Mr. Emory.”
“That’s fine.” He moved just a little further down the hallway toward the studio wing, the sound becoming clearer the closer he got—music bleeding through the insulated walls in controlled bursts. Not loud. Not chaotic. Intentional. He reached the viewing window outside Studio A and slowed.