Chapter 8
Eureka!
Laird
I glance at the message Fenella sent yesterday. She doesn’t reply to my messages all night and answers my call only once. From her voice and the way she talks, she sounds tired.
Jessy takes the backlash too. People swamp Fenella’s socials and flood Mallory’s. After thinking it over, they decide to lie low until the ad drops.
The ad launch is running into major problems. Yes, I promised not to pry about that ad, even though I’m curious. I give her space on purpose, planning to swing by later in the evening after work.
It shouldn’t be a problem. Next week the winter holidays start. We’ll go back to Boston to spend Christmas with our families. After the chaos and whatever mess with Alan, being with her mom feels like the right move.
I rub my chin and think about canceling our winter holiday plans. I want to take her somewhere, but I’m not sure she’ll go for it.
Me:
How’d it go? You said you already got the file.
This is the third time I’ve texted Matthew without an answer. He promised to send me the document about Alan today, but by the end of lunch he still hasn’t replied to my texts. What’s up with him?
My phone rings. Matthew’s name and photo flash on the screen, and I pick up.
“Yo!” the guy on the other end greets, laughing.
“Hey. You get the file?” I ask.
“Uh-huh. You’re not gonna believe what I found.” He practically hisses with excitement.
“Send it now,” I say.
“Uh, no. Pay the rest first.”
I raise an eyebrow. It must be a huge scoop to make him act so smug. “Of course, Mr. Monetized. Since when did this turn into strictly business?” I grumble, and he laughs.
“I’m just being professional. You know what? I’ve gotten better at my job. This is my biggest case so far!” He sounds way too worked up.
“You arrogant prick. Are you drunk? Fine, I’ll send the money.” I’m about to hang up when Matthew yells through the speaker.
“Hey, hey, hey! Hold on. There’s one more thing.”
“What now?” I ask, brow furrowed.
“I bumped into Golden’s assistant at the courthouse. We talked, and I used this structured psychological approach to decode the situation between people, you know, applied my expertise.”
Tsk. He always talks too much, dragging nonsense out just to rile me. “Cut the crap. I know you’re dredging up old memories about how you tanked as his assistant. What did you actually find?”
“You stubborn bastard.” Matthew laughs.
“So, what is it?” I push, getting impatient.
“Brace yourself.” He pauses and breathes in. “They’re investigating Alan in connection with a major criminal case,” Matthew whispers.
“A major criminal case?” My eyes go wide and my jaw drops.
“They’ve been on him for a long time, and Golden’s name came up because of Alan. He kept low for a while, but once he popped up again, Golden went after him.”
“That’s bad. No wonder he showed up at the DUI hearing yesterday,” I mutter, fitting the pieces together.
“Looks like Alan never expected a fed prosecutor to come after him, even over a DUI. Talk about bad timing,” Matthew snorts.
“Well, then he’s using that case to dig in and expand the probe into Alan,” I say.
“Anything’s possible,” Matthew murmurs.
“Ok, send the file first.”
“I told you, pay first.” He snickers.
“Fuck off.”
I hang up. My banking app works wonders, and I send him the money within a minute. No tip—he’s not worth it.
I send the payment proof, and it goes to his number automatically. A while later the file pings my phone. Page after page loads, and I read fast, slowing only when my brain has to knit the conclusion from Matthew’s findings.
My mind drifts back to Whitehill Academy, to high school. My chest tightens when I see the truth about Alan and Amy.
“Goddamn, that son of a bitch,” I mutter through clenched teeth as I print the documents. Fenella has to know. Alan needs to be hauled in for questioning.
“Hey, buddy.” Derek strolls over, all playful energy.
“Not now, Derek,” I say without looking up, my hands moving across the laptop to feed the printer.
“Why so serious? Just ’cause your heart’s in tatters doesn’t mean I’ll put up with your sour face.” He snorts.
“What are you talking about?” I frown and turn to him while I wait for the last sheet to print.
“Don’t lie to me. If you need a rebound, I’ve got a stack of model friends from my dating app.”
“What? I’m not looking for a replacement.” My brows pull together.
“So you two are still together?”
“Yeah. Solid.”
“Then why the hell is that ad out? This is Fenella, right?” He shows me his phone.
Oh hell. It’s the controversial ad video. He plays it. I promised not to watch, but fate apparently disagrees.
I go quiet as the video plays. Alan and Fenella are hooking up in broad daylight. Their bodies are technically covered by racks and extras, but they move like they’re going at each other.
“People are losing it,” he says, shaking his head. “Everyone’s assuming they’re a thing. I hope that’s not true.”
My heart races, blood pounding in my neck. My hands ball into fists. I stay still, digesting a less-than-a-minute ad.
What the fuck. My vision goes black. I crumple the fresh printouts in both hands.
“That son of a bitch,” I growl, trying to stop my body from shaking.
Fenella said Alan didn’t touch her. She said it was the same as always. How dare she lie to me? How dare that bastard touch her?
Enough. I’m done holding back. I’ll strip that man down and expose everything.
I stuff the documents into a brown envelope, grab the motorcycle key from the desk drawer, and in the next second I’m sprinting toward the parking garage.
“Laird! Where you going?!” Derek calls, but I don’t stop.
I run like a bull in front of a red flag. Right now I’ve got one mission: to drag that demon back to hell. I type a furious message to Alan.
Me:
I know everything. You’re dead meat.