Chapter 2 – Olivia
OLIVIA
After months of searching for Olivia and Tate Maxwell, my private investigator finally got a hit. Tracking down one, let alone two, foster kids wasn’t easy.
They entered the system at ages eleven and twelve. Olivia was lucky to find a decent family, but Tate landed in the worst shitholes.
Several days before I received the letter, Olivia’s foster parents had reported her missing. The police assumed she’d fled with her older brother, and the two were on the run.
Carter leaned forward in his chair and slid a manila envelope across my desk.
“This is their last known location. If you don’t act now, you’ll lose them again.
From what I can tell, they don’t crash in the same place for more than a few days.
The boy is smart. He knows how to cover his tracks.
My guess is they’ve survived on the streets this long because of him. ”
I opened the folder and flipped through the pages. “And the girl?”
“Book smart. Like you.”
I smirked at his comment. Calling someone with a 182 IQ book smart was like calling a tiger a kitten.
My childhood was strange. I never attended school with kids my age. I was always the youngest in every class. The only normalcy I had growing up was spending time with Marcello and Sonny Cormac on the weekends.
By the age of ten, I was in high school. And by fourteen, I had earned my first degree from MIT. Thankfully, my body filled out, and I didn’t look as young over the years. But I still stood out among my peers.
My father resented me for being different. He never understood how my brain worked, and instead of embracing my gifts, he shamed me for them.
“Was Olivia tested?” I asked Carter. “Her scores are off-the-charts. She could be a senior, at the very least.”
“Her foster parents had their hands full with five other kids. I doubt they noticed she’s gifted.”
“She deserves a proper education.”
I scanned the dossier containing basic information about Tate and Olivia. The files included their most recent photos courtesy of Child Protective Services. The siblings looked nothing alike.
Tate had dark brown hair and eyes. Arms folded across his chest, he posed for the image, donning a hardened expression. At seventeen, he had the build of a football player—thick arms and a beefy chest. In some ways, he reminded me of my best friend Marcello, who never appeared his age.
Olivia’s long, caramel-colored hair draped over her shoulder as she smiled for the camera. A dimple popped on her right cheek. The prettiest green eyes stared back at me.
She flashed pearly white teeth and wore a light yellow dress. You could tell her foster parents had taken care of her, while Tate reminded me of a wild animal left out in the woods. They’d led very different lives since their separation.
I glanced up from the documents. “Is this everything you have on them?”
Carter bobbed his head. “Birth certificates, social security numbers, a list of foster homes, juvenile records, and academic progress reports. It’s all there.”
I closed the folder and leaned back in the leather chair. “You’re missing the most important piece of information.”
“I’m still working on it. Give me more time. Your father was a very private man. He never mentioned Tate or Olivia to me.”
My dad kept his secrets close to his chest. He was cold, devoid of emotion.
I didn’t know him.
No one did.
Thankfully, my mom was warm and loving. Without her, I would have become heartless.
“My dad must have had a relationship with their mother. There’s no other explanation.”
“I didn’t find any connection,” Carter said. “She was a junkie with bad credit and a laundry list of arrests for prostitution and possession of narcotics.”
“We’re missing something. Find the link.”
I said the last part through clenched teeth, furious with my father for burdening me with his problems. He could have given two shits about me when he was alive. Yet, the selfish bastard had me searching for some junkie’s kids.
I wanted to give up, but my sixth sense pushed me to keep going. Finding Olivia and Tate gave me purpose. I needed to understand my fucked-up family. There had to be a reason for this wild-goose chase.
“My dad screwed high-end escorts and had mistresses my mother knew about. He would never fuck a whore he found on a street corner. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this.”
Carter nodded in agreement. “Before Alanna Maxwell turned to drugs, she worked as an executive assistant at Verity Corp.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s interesting.”
Fifteen years ago, Verity Corp was Battle Industries’ top competitor. My dad hated the CEO and worked around the clock to put them out of business.
Their stock crashed after a scandal destroyed investors’ faith in the tech conglomerate. My father bought every available share, making himself the majority owner. Then, he dismantled the company and fired its employees.
I tossed the folder onto the desk and groaned. “Do you think she was trading insider knowledge of their tech for drug money?”
“It’s possible. Alanna Maxwell was the CEO’s assistant for ten years. She didn’t turn to drugs until after she got laid off and her boss committed suicide. There were rumors she was having an affair with him.”
“Do you have proof?”
“No, but while employed, she lived in a luxury apartment that cost more than her yearly salary.”
I opened the dossier and read Cater’s detailed report on Alanna Maxwell. She was once a beautiful woman. Long caramel-colored hair and big blue eyes. A straight nose and perfect white teeth.
Olivia inherited her mother’s looks and brains. Before working at Verity Corp, Alanna graduated with honors from Columbia University.
“My dad wasn’t paying her much if she had to turn tricks,” I said to state the obvious. “I feel like he’s doing this to fuck with me. What if this is a game? A final fuck you from the grave?”
Carter released a sigh. “I hope not.”
“It’s something he would do.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Unfortunately.”
I slid a bank statement across the desk and pointed at the highlighted numbers. “Do you have any idea what he did with the cash?”
“No. Dick didn’t leave a paper trail. You know what he was like. He stashed money all over the house.”
My family’s home had secret passages, hidden drawers, safes, and an underground vault. If my father needed cash to pay off a hooker for information, he didn’t need to withdraw money from a bank.
“Alanna died from a heroin overdose.” I focused on the police report in my hand. “Her kids were in the apartment. Tate called the police.”
I felt an instant connection to Tate and Olivia.
We had very different upbringings but so much in common.
Death never got easier. Not even after I joined The Devil’s Knights.
My initiation into the secret society was supposed to break me, to make me impervious to all the trauma they inflicted.
But I remembered the faces of every man I killed.
“Poor kids,” I said. “Unfortunately, I know what it’s like to watch someone die.”
Carter folded his hands in his lap. “Your father was a good man.”
I laughed. “No, he wasn’t. Most people hated him. He was an asshole.”
My private investigator pursed his lips.
“It’s okay. I know what people thought of him. Imagine what it was like being raised by that monster.”
“I’ll continue digging into Olivia and Tate’s backgrounds to see if I can find a link to your father.” Carter closed his briefcase and rose from the chair. “So far, I have found no payments from your family’s accounts to their mother or anyone in their family.”
“What about the foster parents?”
“No. They can barely make ends meet.”
I opened my drawer and pulled out the letter from my dad. “This makes no sense. He refused to give money to charities. I never saw him perform a good deed. My father had no heart, no soul. Making money was the only thing that fueled him.”
Carter glanced around my office, his gaze drifting to the wall of glass overlooking the city. Battle Industries towered over the surrounding skyscrapers. My dad once told me that Battles were literally on top of the world—and we would stay that way. God forbid I disgrace him or the family legacy.
“Your dad did well for himself,” Carter said. “He didn’t make mistakes. If he was hiding something, I will uncover it.”
After he exited my office, I studied the information on Olivia and Tate Maxwell and committed it to memory. You couldn’t tell they were siblings. They didn’t share a single feature.
Olivia was book smart and had excellent grades. Tate had failed every subject but gym. His records also showed a history of violent foster fathers. Tate had defended himself. And the images of his foster fathers made it clear the kid could throw a punch.
The men in the photos had dislocated jaws, broken noses, cuts on their lips, and black-and-blue eyes. Tate would make the perfect bodyguard if he could show some restraint.
On the other hand, Olivia was the model student. She had recommendation letters from her teachers and belonged to several clubs, including the debate team. This girl was going places, but her brother was holding her back.
I wanted to save Olivia.
First, I had to find her.