Chapter 35 Atticus
Atticus
Phoenix walks into the spa’s small back office, the shaking girl from the receptionist desk a step behind her.
The girl—Rachel’s—shoulders are drawn tight, like she expects someone to hit or yell at her.
Conrad and I sit across from her, a desk between us, though the desk isn’t much of a shield if she decides to lie to me.
I’ve got no patience left for liars. Not that I would hit her, but I might threaten to give her to Storm. Usually, that threat is enough.
The air in here is sharp with disinfectant and the faint, electric breath of a printer left on, a marked contrast to the calm of the rest of the spa beyond the door. The waterfall’s whisper seeps through the wall, serenity piped in like elevator music.
Rachel twists her fingers together, eyes flicking from me to Conrad, then to Phoenix. Phoenix gives her an encouraging nod.
“I thought you knew,” she blurts before either of us asks a single question. “That’s why I never said anything. The way Ms. Drayton acted, the way she—”
“She’s lying,” the spa manager snaps from the doorway. Her voice is shrill, brittle. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
I don’t even bother to look at her, but Conrad does. He gives her one flat, stony stare that could—and has—made grown men shit themselves. She shuts up fast.
“Start from the beginning, Rachel,” I say to the receptionist, voice clipped but as kind as I’m capable of.
She nods and takes a long, shaking breath. Then words spill out like she’s been holding them back for months.
“She has a secret menu. It’s Botox, anti-aging treatment, lip fillers, shots for weight loss.
Ms. Drayton handles the bookings, but she makes me schedule them, so I see everything.
There’s a guy who comes in through the back hall.
He does the actual work. I never saw his face clearly.
He always wears a hat, keeps his eyes down.
. And he doesn’t ever say anything to me, but it’s him. He’s the one bringing the stuff in.”
The manager sputters, “She’s delusional! I never—”
Conrad finally turns to her.
“You’re done. Bonnie.” His voice is low, even, and more terrifying than if he’d shouted. “Effective immediately, you’re terminated. Legal will be in touch. And most likely the police as well.”
Her jaw drops. “You can’t—”
“I can,” Conrad cuts her off, already pulling his phone out to call the lawyer. “And I will. Don’t step foot back on this property.”
She opens her mouth to protest and shuts it just as rapidly, narrowing her eyes. “Fine.” She begins to storm off in a flurry of indignation, but something strikes me, and I step in front of her, blocking her exit.
“Wait a minute.” I look over at Conrad. “We’re actually going to need you to hang around for a few minutes while we get all of this sorted out. And the company phone needs to go on the desk. I’ll go ahead and call Legal,” I tell Con, and step into the hallway.
With an aggravated huff, she pulls her phone from her pocket and drops it on the desk.
I give Legal a quick call, asking them to come and babysit the manager and make sure she doesn’t make any calls to her supplier while we’re getting everything locked down. Then I reenter the office and close the door behind me.
“Okay,” I say, eyes on the receptionist. She looks like she just had the weight of the world lifted off her shoulders, even as her former boss sits and glares at her. “Here’s what I think.”
Conrad arches an eyebrow and motions for me to go ahead.
“I think she needs to be promoted,” I say to Conrad. “Effective immediately.”
Conrad nods. “I agree.” He turns to the girl, ignoring the small sound of outrage the manager makes from the corner where she’s been consigned. “HR will be in contact about your pay and benefits.”
Her eyes widen. “Me?”
“You’ve clearly been running this place while your boss played puppetmaster. Now you’ll do it officially.” I lean back in my chair, studying her. “You’ve done good work. Keep it up.”
Relief and gratitude flicker across her face, softening some of the exhaustion. For once, I mean what I say. I do believe in rewarding good behavior. I just wish Phoenix would figure that out sooner. Then I could reward her the way I really want to.
“Do you have a way to contact this guy?” I ask.
Rachel swallows and scribbles a number down on a scrap of paper, sliding it across the desk like it’s radioactive. “That’s the number she told me to call whenever we needed more supplies. He always answered. Always.”
“You’re making a huge mistake—”
“You’re going to want to shut up now,” Conrad says.
I pocket the number without another word and leave the office.
Back in my office, I sink into my chair.
The paper with a number sits in front of me. Small, harmless-looking. And probably the biggest break we’ve had yet.
I type it in. Run the trace.
The results come back fast, and my stomach turns.
Officer Danner.
The same cop who cornered Phoenix in the kitchen—only he’s obviously hired someone to bring the supplies to the spa, because the guy in the video isn’t short and round.
The same bastard who made her flinch when she told us about the threats.
The same small-dicked motherfucker who put Maverick in cuffs to make himself feel like a big man.
Every search I run digs the knife in deeper. He’s definitely dirty. Bought and paid for, and cheaply. The drugs, the fake Botox, the fentanyl—all of it funneled through him. And behind him is whoever’s trying to start a war for territory in Savannah.
The hell of it is…we’re not even players on the board. We don’t deal in drugs. We don’t sell injectables or run guns or do any of this other mob bullshit. We’re just…normal people.
Normal people with a hotel that happens to make a shit ton of money, sure, but normal fucking people.
Is that what this is all about? Are they trying to leverage us for control of Titan-Wynn so they can use it to launder money and run all their dirty shit through it?
No fucking thank you.
I rub a hand over my face. “Motherfucker.”
For weeks I’ve been trying to find the thread, the single string I could tug on until this whole mess unraveled. I thought maybe it was the spa. Maybe the missing staff. Maybe the overdose patterns. But no, it’s him, a fucking cop.
It’d be bad enough if he were just peddling poison through our resort, but no, he’s the same son of a bitch who’s been threatening Phoenix—which begs the question—who the fuck is he working for?
He doesn’t have the balls to rip off Blackvine, and he isn’t smart enough to pull any of this shit off on his own.
If he’s the puppet, who the fuck is his master?
I slam my fist against the desk hard enough to rattle the monitors.
The footage of Mav and Storm. This dirty fucker has it, and he can get to our girl.
And all of this with the goddamn mob breathing down our necks, because he’s part of them framing us to cover his own ass.
It all connects. I can see the web clearly, but I don’t see a way out. There is no path that gets us where we need to be.
That’s the part that undoes me. Because usually, no matter how dark, no matter how impossible they are, I can see the angles. The cracks in the wall. A way to manipulate, to calculate, to come out on top.
But this?
We’re boxed in. Every option is a trap.
I stare at the screens until the lines blur, until my reflection stares back at me from the black edges of the glass.
Death is too good for some people. Too fast. Too clean.
And yet, for the first time in my life, I feel something worse than rage, worse than vengeance.
I feel cornered.
I lean back in my chair, exhale slowly, and close my eyes.
For the first time, I can’t see a scenario where we win…and for the first time I have something real to lose.