Chapter 7 Quinn #2
I realize my jeans are somewhere by the couch, so I walk over to retrieve them, dressing quickly. Then I cross to the kitchen barefoot. The concrete floor is cool beneath my feet.
Keller hands me a mug. "Creamer and sugar right there," he points to a white ceramic container and raw sugar cubes.
"Thanks."
We stand there, leaning against opposite counters. The silence isn't awkward, oddly enough. Even though we just met, there's an easy familiarity with him, like we've known each other for much longer than the few days since the gala, or even weeks since the incident in the street.
"You said your last name is Mercer, right? Are you related to the Mercers who are old New Orleans?"
I glance at him over the rim of my mug. "Yeah, I think we are all related. My family's been in New Orleans for generations."
He isn't wearing a shirt, and I have to make myself not stare at the way his waist makes a perfect V into his sweatpants.
"Old money."
"Old name. Money's mostly gone," I say with a laugh.
He nods but doesn't press. I sip the coffee. It's strong and delicious, hitting the spot.
"I actually know your cousin, the senator. Impressive."
"Yeah, between my senator cousin and the foundation my grandfather set up, we have a lot of high expectations in our family. Very buttoned up."
"You don't strike me as buttoned up."
"Good, I think. I'm definitely more low-key."
He smiles faintly, but genuinely, before taking another sip from his mug.
I shift my weight, leaning one hip against the counter. "As much as I don't want to, I should probably get going. I have to get to the office."
"I'm right there with you. Thanks for staying for coffee. Will you let me drive you back to your car?"
"Thank you for the coffee. Yeah, that would be great."
The office is cold, but I stopped noticing an hour ago. My desk is tucked in the corner, away from the main bullpen. Quiet. Controlled. Exactly how I need it.
I pull up the Stone Intermodal corporate structure on my screen. The ownership tree branches widely. Parent company. Subsidiaries. Holding companies tucked inside shell entities tucked inside more subsidiaries.
Classic layering.
I open a new spreadsheet and start building the outline. One column for entity name. Another for the incorporation date. A third for listed officers. I pull data from state filings, archived news articles, and public SEC documents. The information is dry and technical, exactly what I'm good at.
Stone Intermodal dominates logistics in the Gulf. Shipping contracts. Warehousing. Distribution networks that stretch through six states. Revenue in the hundreds of millions. It's the kind of operation that doesn't stay clean just by accident.
I click into the leadership breakdown. Robert Stone, deceased. Ridge Stone, CEO. Three other brothers are listed in various operational capacities. Each one is tied to a different branch of the business.
Then I see a name that stops me in my tracks. Keller Stone is the Director of Strategic Partnerships.
My hand freezes on the mouse.
Keller is a unique name. I realize that I never got his last name, even though he knows mine.
I stare at the screen. My chest tightens. The coffee I drank this morning turns sour in my stomach.
It's not him. It can't be him. My Keller works in finance. Private investment. That's what he said. Finance, not logistics. Not shipping. Not the fucking Stone family.
I exhale slowly, forcing my shoulders to relax.
Common enough name. New Orleans is known for its uncommon names. It's probably some French derivative that I didn't realize I'd heard before. Big fat coincidence, that's all.
I scroll down. The file lists addresses, corporate roles, and board positions. Nothing that definitively connects the Keller Stone on this screen to the man whose bed I woke up in yesterday.
I tell myself to stop jumping to fantastical conclusions just because I see the name of the man I can't stop thinking about. God, I'm pathetic.
I click back to the parent directory. There's an archived press release from eighteen months ago. It's a ribbon-cutting for a new distribution facility in Algiers. I open it without thinking.
The photo loads.
Five men in suits stand in front of a massive warehouse. I recognize Ridge Stone in the center is tall and controlled. His full beard is very distinguishable. Robert Stone stands beside him with the other men filling in on either side.
And there, second from the left, is a lanky man with dirty blonde hair, a square jaw, and thick black glasses.
No.
My stomach drops. The room tilts. I grip the edge of my desk and force myself to breathe through my nose.
Fuck.
It's him. It's definitely him. Same face. Same glasses. Same everything.
Keller Stone. Director of Strategic Partnerships for Stone Intermodal.
The man I've been tasked with investigating is the father of the man I just slept with. The family I'm supposed to be mapping, dissecting, and building a case against includes the one man I absolutely can't have anything personal to do with.
This isn't happening. It can't be. This could ruin this investigation. And that's best case scenario. I can't even think about what it could do to my career.
But it is happening. The evidence is right there on my screen. Clear and undeniable.
I close the file, and my hands shake. I press them flat against the desk and stare at the empty space in front of me.
I didn't know. We met before I even officially started this case, and even after I did, I had no idea he was related to Robert Stone, or that he's employed by the logistics company I'm supposed to be quietly looking into.
That's true. I didn't. He never told me his last name. I never asked.
I open the file again and force myself to look at the photo. I stare at Keller standing beside his brothers. At the warehouse behind them.
My phone is in my desk drawer. I haven't checked it since this morning. I think I'm going to be sick.
I close the folder and throw it into the corner of my desk. I need it as far away from me as possible.
My fingers move on instinct, racing across the keyboard, pulling up the charity event archives.
The Stone family donates to the Children's Hospital.
The Stone family sponsors a youth literacy program.
Robert Stone at the opera gala.
There.
A formal shot from three months ago. Another formal event connected to the Krewe of Argentum. Black tie. Smiling faces arranged in perfect rows.
How the fuck did I not put all of this together?
Why did he lie to me about what he does? Did he know who I was all along?
The questions keep stacking up as I scroll through the article.
The Stone brothers stand in the second row, five of them in this photo.
Ridge in the center again, with Keller immediately to his left, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of champagne. He's looking slightly away from the camera, caught mid-conversation with someone out of frame.
The caption runs beneath:
Ridge Stone, Executive Vice President of Stone Intermodal, pictured with brothers Keller Stone, Wells Stone, Cain Stone and Rhodes Stone. Not pictured, Reeves Stone, who is serving his country in the Middle East.
I already know Ridge was promoted to CEO once Robert died.
I zoom in. My breath catches as I lean back in my chair, hands dropping to my lap.
I press my palms against my thighs. The fabric of my pants is rough under my sweaty hands. The light pur of my PC is the only noise as my world implodes.
I slept with a target's brother.
Not a target yet. Not officially. Robert Stone's death investigation is preliminary. This is a financial review, nothing more. It isn't inappropriate yet. Right?
My phone tap-taps against the desk. I flip it over without thinking. to see a text from Keller. My mouth goes dry.
Dinner tonight?
Two words. I stare at the screen. The message sits there, waiting. My thumb hovers over the keyboard.
How do I handle this?
I can't ghost him. That looks suspicious. I can't keep seeing him. That's a fucking ethics violation waiting to detonate. I can't tell him who I am or what I'm doing because that compromises everything.
I have to end it.
The thought is clear and logical. It's the only option that makes sense.
But my stomach twists anyway.
I set the phone down and close the photo on my screen. Keller's face disappears, replaced by the empty desktop background.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph.