Chapter 13
REGAN
The sun feels good on my arms and face. I find a decent spot on a low retaining wall in a decorative garden outside a large office building near the one where I work and pop off the lid to my usual afternoon big salad. I crack open a Diet Coke and fold into myself as I eat.
It’s a nice day, but I don’t feel much of anything.
I’ve been numb ever since I went to Liam’s a week ago. I knew it was a mistake, sitting down on that couch in his lobby at ten at night after trying to call up to his apartment. But the obsession wouldn’t let me go.
I had to hear it from him. I needed to know for sure.
I’ve been aiding and abetting a money laundering scheme since the moment I started working at this place.
That’s why Dad wanted me to get my CPA license. He told me as much, but I didn’t want to think about it too deeply. It was easier to stay in denial. We’re just a rich family. We’re successful, and sure, we’re connected to some shady people, but I’m not involved in that side of the operation.
Except I am.
My name’s on all the filings.
All those fake freaking numbers I chose to ignore.
Because that’s what Dad wanted, right?
If I made a scene about them, I’d only prove to my father that I couldn’t be trusted and wasn’t as perfect as I pretended.
Now I know for sure I’ve been used my whole life.
And I’m not going to do a damn thing about it.
That’s the part I can’t get past. I keep waking up in my father’s house and going in to work. I keep on doing my job, even knowing that I’m digging my own grave. My father keeps letting me do it too. He keeps putting the shovel in my hands.
I hardly notice the man who sits beside me. He’s in a short jacket, jeans, nice sneakers. I’m thinking about the mountain of work on my desk when the stranger leans closer and speaks, his voice tinged with a Russian accent.
“Pretty day today, isn’t it?”
I look over. He’s middle aged and lean. His hair is light with some graying streaks. I give him a polite smile. “Yeah, it’s a good one.”
“Perfect day for a pic-nic lunch, I think.” He exhales, stretching his back. “Do you eat out here often, Regan?”
I go still, smile plastered on my face. My head starts spinning. Do I know this guy? Am I forgetting him from somewhere? He knows me—he used my name—but I can’t place him at all.
“I’m sorry, do we know each other?”
“No, no, I’m being rude, I know. My name’s Max Baranov. It’s very nice to meet you.”
I don’t move a muscle. Panic hits a wailing pitch. I know that name, even if I’ve never met the man attached to it.
Max Baranov. Vera’s older brother.
We’ve never met before. My understanding is he’s significantly older, at least ten years or more. I can see the resemblance: same hair color, same sharp facial features.
But what terrifies me is his smile. It’s completely empty.
In high school, there were rumors about Max. He got kicked out for hurting someone, people whispered. He beat up a younger kid over some misunderstanding. He stabbed a girl for cheating on him. He stole, bribed a teacher, and brutally eviscerated a janitor. He was the devil, they whispered.
Vera didn’t talk about him, at least I never heard it.
“Oh, you’re…” I clear my throat, trying to act like this is normal. “Hi, Max. I’m Regan.”
“Yes, I know who you are. I know you very well. My sister speaks highly of you. You and Vera were in the same class, weren’t you?”
I dip my chin. I grip my salad bowl hard to keep my hands steady. “We weren’t close back then.”
“No, and I bet you’re even less close now.” His gaze is steady and unnerving. There’s no amusement in his eyes, no indication that he’s doing anything more than having a casual conversation with a boring and slightly disinteresting acquaintance.
“What can I do for you, Max?” I want this conversation over. If we weren’t in a very public place right now with lots of people nearby, I’d be afraid for my life.
But he wouldn’t murder me in front of a dozen witnesses, right?
Probably not?
“I have a gift for you, as it happens.” He pulls a plain manila envelope from his jacket and angles it toward me.
I don’t take it. “What’s that?”
“Let’s call it a dossier. Plus a thumb drive containing some interesting information.”
“Why are you giving me that?”
“Because your boyfriend—“ He cracks another fake smile. “Sorry, your ex boyfriend gave it to me, and I think you’ll find it very interesting.”
Bile rises in my throat. Fear slithers into my toes. I squirm and force myself to sit still. Max keeps the envelope hovering between us. I should reach out and snatch it but the thought of getting closer to him makes me sick.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say and my voice is small and weak. I hate myself for that. I sit up straight, doing my best to act like I’ve got everything under control when I’m falling apart on the inside.
“Oh, I think you most certainly do, Regan. Go ahead, take it. I won’t bite.” He shows me teeth. Straight and white.
I reach out, and accept the envelope. I can’t help but feel like I’m doing something terribly wrong.
“I don’t know why you’re giving this to me.”
“You’ll see why, don’t worry. Kieren sends his regards, by the way. And can I tell you something, just between us?”
“What?”
“Burning his car to the ground was the funniest fucking shit I’ve seen in ages.” He gets up abruptly like a snake uncoiling. I flinch back, pulse rocketing. “Run that envelope past your father. Not the Whelans. Your father. Do you understand me, Regan?”
“Yes… I mean… I don’t know…”
“Good. Very good. Don’t worry, if you keep your head down, I am sure you will be fine. Unless you happen to be marrying someone I deeply despise… then perhaps not so fine anymore. Have a nice day, Regan.”
Max walks off. My bowl of salad tips off my lap and spills all over the ground. A woman nearby watches me but I can’t bring myself to clean it up. I twist and retch into the flowers behind me. Nothing comes up, but sweat breaks out across my body as I tremble.
Fuck, that was terrifying. That was the scariest man I’ve ever met. The way he looked at me, like I was a giant human doll, like there was no emotion behind his eyes at all—
It was inhuman.
Nightmarish.
I’ve never been more disturbed by another person in my life.
I thought Liam was scary, but at least there’s warmth in him.
Max is nothing but a cold, black void.
Once I have control of myself, I grab my stuff and run back to my office. I huddle in my cubicle, fix my eyes on the envelope, and force myself to rip it open. Half of me expects snakes to slither out and bite me, sink their poison fangs into my skin.
Instead, there’s a nicely printed, laminated, and bound set of spreadsheets. Exactly like the sort of document I’d make for a big meeting, plus a black USB drive at the bottom.
I’m shaking as I flip through the pages.
I’ve seen these before. They’re financial documents.
A cold horror washes over me as I realize I made these, six months ago.
It was for a presentation I made to my father about the company’s various complex financial entanglements.
Debits, credits, lines of debt and investments.
All the various projects we’re involved in.
This was a massive undertaking, and I was so resentful of my father when he first dumped it on my desk.
Seeing it again, in this context, is like getting shot in the guts.
I have to set it aside.
Against my better judgement, I plug the USB drive into my computer and boot it up.
More files. This time, they’re meticulously detailed, and going back years.
Transactions, bank accounts, and even more, connections to other LLCs and affiliated businesses I’d only ever glimpsed into the data since coming here.
Between my presentation and what’s on this drive, it’s clear what Max is trying to tell me.
What Kieren stole when he left.
It’s everything.
The whole laundering scheme. All the connections, all the bribes, all the kickbacks and the flows of capital, obscured in data and buried in spreadsheets, but it’s all there. Every incriminating bit of it.
And all in the hands of the Baranovs.
I shove back from my desk and stand. I pace back and forth, unable to help myself. This is so bad, so fucking bad.
What am I supposed to do with all this?
Max wants me to go to my father. And that’s got to be the move, right? Dad will know what to do.
But a warning bell rings.
That’s what the Baranovs want. And what they want is exactly what I shouldn’t do. I mean, how will my dad react to all this? To literal proof of his criminal activity in the hands of people who want to destroy him?
They could do it now too. They could leak this to the DA’s office and Dad would be in cuffs in a few days. But even worse, they could use this information against us, they could dismantle the operation Dad’s been building all his life.
They could coopt it for their own purposes.
This firm is a machine. It’s not a structure for permits and building codes; it’s a complex web of financial interactions designed to hide flows of illegal, unclean money. It’s a laundering operation, plain and simple, with some construction jobs bolted on top.
It’s every criminal organization’s wet dream.
That’s why my dad’s so important to the Whelans.
Now the Baranovs want to rip all that apart.
And they’re using me to do it.
“You want anything else, hun?” Hal pours more coffee. I wave her off and drink it black and piping hot.
“No, I’m good, but thanks.”
“Sure thing.” She doesn’t walk off right away. Instead, she moves in closer. “You’re waiting for him, huh?”
“I guess so. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
She checks over her shoulder before slipping into the booth across from me, coffee pot clutched in one hand. “You want my advice? Liam’s bad news. But you knew that already, right?”
“Kind of hard to miss.”