Chapter 13 Silent Flowers #2
"When I told Lorenzo I wasn't a virgin, I thought he'd call it off." Moira sighs. "I was hoping he would. But it just made him more infatuated with me. Little did he know I'd lost my virginity way before Lorenzo was part of any conversations," Moira says with a hint of pride in her voice.
"I remember." I trace the rim of my coffee mug with my finger. "I remember all the preparations you had to make. All the lies you had to tell just to get a few hours alone with your secret boyfriend. Sneaking around like criminals just to be together."
"God, the elaborate schemes." Moira laughs softly. "It was exhausting."
"But he was sweet to you."
"He was. We stayed together as long as we could after that. It was a miracle we even got away with it as long as we did before Dad found out I had a boyfriend." Her voice turns wistful. "High school doesn't give you much control over your own life when you're a Quinn."
"I wanted my first time to be something more than rushed and secretive. Someone who wouldn't just run the second it was over. I wanted..." I pause, trying to find the right words. "I wanted it to mean something."
"And did it? With Anton?"
"I think so. At least it did to me." I stare at the pendant on the counter. "But I don't know what happens now, Moira. I really don't."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what if this was just about the danger? The adrenaline? What happens when all of this is over, and there's no reason for him to protect me anymore?"
"Fee." Moira's voice turns firm. "I saw how he looked at you at our house. The way he moved when you were in the room. That wasn't just protection."
"Or maybe that's exactly what it was. Protection. His job."
"You don't really believe that."
I don't answer because I'm not sure what I believe.
"Fee, listen to me. The man infiltrated our mansion and challenged Lorenzo Carlucci, just to prove a point about your safety."
"I guess. I just need to see what happens after all this danger is over. After there's no adrenaline or professional obligation. Then we'll see what's real."
Moira sighs. "You're being stubborn."
"I'm being realistic."
There's a pause, then Moira groans. "Okay, I really need to pee now. This baby is sitting directly on my bladder. Want me to take you with me to the bathroom?"
I laugh. "No, I'm good. Go take care of business. I need to study for my final anyway."
"Go kick some ass, little sis."
"Thank you, Moira. Really. And I'm going to see about staying with you. Keep you company during mornings like this one."
"I'd love that. This house is too quiet when Lorenzo's gone. I better go pee now. Love you."
"Love you too, beautiful Mama."
I set my phone down and pull the laptop closer, but my eyes drift to my purse sitting innocently beside it.
Yuri went through my laptop. I know he did.
The digital fingerprints are subtle. He's good. Really good.
But I'm always learning, always discovering.
The tampon box sits at the bottom of my purse, past lipstick, wallet, and all the normal things that make this hiding spot perfect. Six count, organic cotton, completely unremarkable.
Except they're not. I shake one out into my palm. My thumb finds the pull-string, and I tug.
The cotton slides free from the plastic tube, revealing the hollow interior. Nestled inside sits a micro SD card, smaller than my thumbnail.
What man would ever think to check a woman's tampons? Even the most paranoid soldier wouldn't dismantle feminine hygiene products and meticulously reassemble them. The psychological barrier alone makes it the perfect hiding spot.
Though with these guys, who knows? Maybe Yuri did check. Maybe he found it, copied everything, and put it back exactly as he found it just to see what I'd do next.
Only one way to find out.
I disconnect from the VPN Anton gave me. The camellia pendant sits on the counter, beautiful and dormant. This particular piece of research needs to stay completely off his radar until I know what I'm dealing with.
The SD card slots into my laptop with a soft click. Morrison's life unfolds across my screen in neat folders: financial records, communications, meeting schedules, property deeds.
I start with the HeartSync payments. Twelve transactions over six months, each one for fifty thousand dollars. Six hundred thousand total, flowing into an account supposedly belonging to a dating app, protected by military-grade encryption.
Except the numbers don't add up.
I pull up Morrison's income statements, his known assets, and his spending patterns. The man was well-paid for a corrupt judge, but not this well-paid. These transactions would have drained accounts he didn't have. The money trail leads to sources that don't exist.
Someone manufactured these payments. Made them look like Morrison was buying something expensive and illegal through HeartSync when he wasn't.
But why frame a judge already working for us?
I dig deeper, opening his email folder. Most of it is mundane—case files, scheduling conflicts, the occasional communication with my father or Lorenzo about favorable rulings.
There, an email dated May 17th.
Subject: Reconsider
Judge Morrison,
My client is prepared to offer $5 million for your cooperation in our upcoming venture. The Basov/Quinn weapons shipment represents an opportunity that benefits everyone involved. Your position is critical to ensuring smooth passage.
All we need is your silence at the right moment.
Wire transfer details attached. Half now, half upon completion.
Meet us May 18th at 9:30 PM. A no-show will be considered a refusal, and a refusal will have consequences.
May 18th. 9:30 PM. The night of Sage's wedding. I was on the dance floor with her at 9:30. Anton asked me to walk with him shortly after.
Morrison was at the wedding. I saw him in the parking lot with Shane around 10, maybe 10:15.
He didn't show up to that meeting. Refused by not going.
And less than twenty-four hours later, he was dead.
I scroll through weeks of correspondence, searching for any mention of this client or prior contact. Nothing. The thread starts and ends with that single message. No response from Morrison. No follow-up from the sender.
The email address has already been deleted. A burner account, wiped clean.
Morrison wasn't dirty on this. He was a fall guy. Someone needed him gone and needed it to look like he'd betrayed both families. Someone who knew about the weapons shipment. Knew Morrison cleared the manifests. Knew his vulnerabilities well enough to frame him.
They manufactured the HeartSync payments first, making it look like he was hiring contract killers. Then they sent the email. When he refused, they had their excuse to kill him and make it look like the families were just cleaning house.
But the shipment itself? That's real. Too big an operation to fake. Dad and the Basovs have been planning this for months.
And if I found intel about it in Morrison's files, anyone with decent resources could have too. Every rival organization probably knows about this shipment by now.
So why are they still moving forward? Why not postpone until the security breach is identified? Maybe that's what Anton and Yuri are doing.
Regardless, this is exactly why Dad should let me help with intelligence analysis. I could have flagged this exposure weeks ago. But every time I try to contribute anything beyond party planning, I get dismissed.
I lean back, staring at the screen.
The fake payments are a misdirection. The email was a setup: they'd offered Morrison a fortune, knowing he'd refuse because he's been loyal for fifteen years, then kill him when he didn't show.
But why go through all this trouble just to frame and eliminate one judge?
Someone's using the shipment as an opportunity. Either to steal the cargo, to sabotage the alliance between the Basovs and Quinns, or to create chaos they can exploit for something else entirely.
They framed Morrison to throw everyone off. To make it look like we had an internal betrayal when the real threat is still out there.
And that threat killed Morrison. Nearly killed Shane. Put a hit out on me.
Whatever this is about, it's bigger than weapons.
The shipment is just the opening move.