Chapter Thirty-One
COOPER
My father sauntered into the conference room and splayed out in the chair at the foot of the table, as relaxed as a guy meeting buddies for a beer after work. The two armed guards who’d escorted him might not have existed for all the attention he gave them.
At my nod, they took up positions on either side of the door. If Maxwell tried to bolt, they’d stop him. He might have run the company after Granddad retired, but he’d been gone a long time, and he hadn’t exactly been beloved while he was here. The men on the door were mine, not his.
I sat opposite my father at the head of the long, polished conference table, in the chair that used to be his. Evers, Knox, and Axel were arranged in between us, their eyes grim. Resigned.
None of us wanted to be here. Hell, I wanted to be in Griffen’s place, with Alice, shopping for Petra. That said a lot considering I hate shopping. But remembering Petra’s faded pajamas, the way she’d reached for me—I wanted to be with her. With Alice.
Too bad. Agent Holley was out of town, chasing down a lead on Tsepov, but he’d be here the next day.
Either he’d secure Maxwell’s cooperation or he’d toss Maxwell in jail where he’d suffocate under a mountain of charges.
Charges that would drag Sinclair Security down with him. I couldn’t let that happen.
I had a plan, and it hinged on one thing. Me being as good a liar as my father.
Maxwell lounged back in his chair, legs spread wide, arms crossed over his chest as if he hadn’t a care in the world, his eyebrow raised in a cocky smirk.
“What? No coffee? No hello for your old man? It’s been what, five years?”
“Not the best opening, Dad,” Axel said, his eyes frigid. “I guess I should be glad you’re back from the dead, but considering the mess you left us…” Axel left the rest unspoken. Maxwell refused to let the words wound him, turning away from Axel as if he hadn’t spoken.
I lifted my chin in the direction of the single-serve coffee maker on the cart in the corner. “Help yourself if you want coffee, but do it now. I’d like to get this over with.”
“Alice not serving coffee?” he asked in a silky, dangerous tone.
I restrained the urge to knock him unconscious. One punch hadn’t been enough. Not even close.
“Alice is out buying supplies for your daughter, who not only didn't have clothes that fit, she didn't even have a toothbrush. Even if Alice were here at her desk, she would not be doing anything for you. Ever. Not transferring phone calls, not making copies, and absolutely not getting you a cup of coffee.”
“Hell, she doesn’t even get me a cup of coffee,” Evers said.
With a glare at my younger brother, I reminded him, “That's because getting coffee isn't Alice’s job.”
Mug in hand, my father returned to his seat, giving me an annoyed look. “You’ve got a bug up your ass. You need to get laid. I figured she’d at least do her job in the sack.”
I was moving before I thought about it, stopped only by Axel's hand clamping down on my shoulder, pinning me in my seat.
“You need to shut the fuck up, Dad,” he said.
Maxwell rolled his eyes at Evers and Knox. If he was looking for allies there, he was disappointed.
“What are you doing here, Dad?” Evers asked, not bothering to hide his anger. “Why now, after five years? I know it's not because you give a shit about your family, so what do you want?”
Maxwell reared back in exaggerated offense. It was mostly an act. I saw him think about going for indignant, then deciding it wasn't going to fly with this audience.
Maybe he saw the wisdom in saving us some time because he took a long sip of coffee before placing the mug on the table.
After a dramatic pause, he said, his voice low, almost theatrical, “Tsepov is closer than you think. Petra and I barely made it out of Prague. If I want to stay ahead of him, I need cash, firepower, and clean papers.”
Knox laughed, shocking the hell out of me. Of all of us, Knox excelled at stony silence. Our father’s sudden reappearance had knocked all of us off our stride.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Knox said, words heavy with disgust. “You show up five years after your funeral, after stealing millions from the mob, and hit us up for cash and guns? Not going to happen. And we’re sure as hell not going to help you get clean fucking papers.
You think we’d burn one of our contacts by dragging them into this clusterfuck? ”
“I’m your goddamn father,” Maxwell erupted. “Everything you have is because of me. If I ask you to give me some cash and the fucking guns, you'll goddamn well do it.”
There was the good old Dad I knew and loved. It didn’t take him long to get to the point. Of course, he wanted money. What else would he want? Forgiveness? To come home to his family? Not Maxwell.
“And Petra?” I asked. “What's your plan for our little sister? Are you going to drag her along while you keep running? Do you even care about what Tsepov will do with her if he catches up to you?”
Maxwell squirmed in his seat, his eyes on the steam drifting from his mug of coffee.
Before he could answer, Evers kicked in. “I wasn't sure your shitty parenting could get worse, but here you are, proving me wrong again.”
“Shut the fuck up,” my father shot back. “Just shut up. You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about—”
His words cut off abruptly, and the grief in his face left me speechless. He was a good actor, an even better bullshit artist, but the raw pain in his eyes, the tremble to his chin—those were real.
Fucking hell. He’d loved that girl.
Just as I started to feel sorry for my father, I remembered the sound of Knox’s house exploding with Alice trapped inside. Every drop of my sympathy for my father drained away.
I'd never forget the way my heart had stopped as the ground shook beneath my feet. Never forget running through the smoke to find Alice on the floor in a pool of blood.
I'd never forget how close I'd come to losing her. Or whose fault it was. Forcing the heat of emotion from my voice, I pressed harder. “You got Mila killed. You almost got Alice and Summer killed. So, tell me, what are you going to do about Petra? Can you live with her death on your conscience?”
Maxwell studied his half-empty coffee as if the answer to all his problems was written on the side of the mug. Avoiding all of our eyes, he finally said, “I thought I'd leave Petra here with you.”
I leveled ice-cold eyes on Maxwell, silent, letting him squirm at my apparent lack of concern.
Evers didn’t bother to play it cool. “What a shock.
You're interested in making children, but not raising them. You aren't here to make things right. You aren’t here to clean up your mess. You're here to dump your kid so you can go off and do whatever the fuck you want. Find another young girl to knock up. Steal another fortune from the mob. Do I have that right? You’re here to talk us into funding your next adventure while you grease the wheels for a clean getaway. Am I missing anything?”
Easy-going Evers was as angry as I'd ever seen him. Then again, he'd almost lost Summer because of our father and Tsepov. Evers had endured endless hours tied to a chair, watching Summer’s father bleed to death, terrified Summer would suffer the same fate—or worse—at Tsepov’s hands.
Evers had had plenty of time to think about how fucking pissed he was at our father.
Marshaling the indignation he seemed to thrive on, Maxwell retorted, “I can't take Petra with me. It’s too dangerous. She's your sister. Your responsibility—”
“Oh, that's rich,” Axel said. “How the hell is she our responsibility? And what are we supposed to tell Mom? Have you thought about that?”
Maxwell didn't acknowledge the problem of Petra and our mother.
“Look, I thought I would do a better job this time. When Mila was alive and the three of us were together, I thought this time I’d get it right.
A new start. And then it all went to hell, and you're right, I'm a shitty father.
Any one of you could do better than me with your eyes closed.
I'm asking you to try. To keep her safe and give her the life I can't give her.”
Evers leaned forward, ready with another sarcastic comment. I held up my hand and he restrained himself.
Doing my best to sound unaffected, disinterested, I laid it out for Maxwell.
“Here's how this is going to go. I want two things from you.
If you give them to me, I'll keep Petra and raise her like she's my own. I’ll give her everything you never gave us. Love. Attention. I'll give her my time. A happy home. I’ll give her a mother who gives a shit about her. The best of everything.”
Maxwell's face lightened with relief, and he leaned forward. “You won't regret this Cooper, I—”
I held up my hand again, stopping him in his tracks. He shifted with unease as he finally registered my frigid tone.
“You didn't let me finish.” Each word fell into the room like a block of ice, leaving a brittle tension in its wake.
Maxwell's eyes locked on mine, fear overriding his relief.
Good. He should be afraid.
“Two things, Maxwell. If you don't give me what I want, I'll throw both of you out on the street.”
“You wouldn’t.” There was no conviction in his shaking voice as he processed the thought that maybe I would.
“I absolutely will,” I threatened, knowing I had to play this part so well Maxwell believed I was as ruthless as he was.
In truth, I was exactly as ruthless as Maxwell. It was only my priorities that were different.
“The rest of us have been through enough. We're done with you and the problems you’ve caused. You give me these two things, and I'll take the kid and give you whatever cash you need.”
“Fine.” Maxwell slumped back in defeat. The wounded look in his eyes caused the tiniest twinge of remorse, gone so fast I barely felt it. My father was an adult. He could suffer his own consequences. He didn’t deserve my loyalty. My baby sister did.
“What do you want?” Maxwell asked on a sigh.
“Dave Price is drawing up documents to voluntarily terminate your parental rights and give me guardianship of Petra. You will sign them. That's number one.”
“Fine. If you're going to take her, that makes sense anyway,” he said, not looking too cut up over losing all rights to his daughter. “And the other thing?”
“You help Agent Holley nail Tsepov.”
“You’ve got to be out of your goddamn mind,” he blustered, shooting to his feet, the chair rolling behind him until it bumped into the wall. He started to pace, ranting at me. Something about me being a Judas, ungrateful, whatever.
I tuned him out, turning to Knox. “Do you still have Tsepov's number? I doubt he’ll answer, but I have a feeling if I leave a voicemail telling him we can hand him Maxwell, he’ll call us back.
That would save time. I doubt we’ll need those custody papers signed if he’s dead. We’re Petra’s next of kin anyway.”
His voice just as cold as my own, Knox said, “It’s programmed in my phone. I’ll make the call.”
I nodded in approval, watching Maxwell from the corner of my eye as Knox pulled his phone from his pocket and started tapping the screen. Knox wasn’t fucking around. He did have Andrei Tsepov in his contacts, and he didn’t hesitate before he hit the number and lifted the phone to his ear.
Maxwell froze mid-stride, finally realizing no one was listening to him. His eyes locked on Knox, watching with narrowed eyes as Knox shrugged a shoulder. “Voicemail. I’ll just let him know he can have Dad—”
Maxwell flew across the room, knocking the phone from Knox’s hand. It hit the floor and skidded, Maxwell diving after it, stabbing frantically at the screen, desperate to end the call before any of our voices were captured on Tsepov's voicemail.
The second he terminated the call, Maxwell pitched the phone into the wall, not satisfied until it exploded in pieces. “What the fuck were you thinking? I’m your father—”
“No, you’re not,” Knox roared, striding toward Maxwell, his usually stony face twisted with rage.
“You’re a fucking sperm donor who walked away from us years before you left.
I’m a goddamned father, and I’ll do anything to keep my family safe.
Anything. Including hand you over to Tsepov. Do you get me?”
Shit. I thought my bluff would scare Maxwell enough to get what we needed, and maybe it would have, but seeing Knox lose control so completely shoved our father right over the edge.
Just in case the message hadn’t gotten through, I summarized, my demeanor as calm as Knox’s was enraged.
“I think we’ve made it clear. You’re only useful to us alive if you’re going to help the FBI. Otherwise, the best way to deal with you is to hand you over to Tsepov. Axel? Evers? Any objections? Either of you want to plead Dad’s case?”
The silence that fell on the room was deafening. Maxwell stood on shaky legs, his eyes landing on Evers, then Axel, waiting for one of them to say something. They stared back, eyes hard.
For the first time in our lives, Maxwell saw us for who we were instead of as tools to serve his interests.
What he saw was pure, unyielding resolve.
Resolve to salvage everything we’d worked for.
Resolve to protect our own.
In the face of that resolve, his shoulders slumped. He made his way back to his chair, falling into it with a resigned thud.
“Fine, you win. I'll help Agent Holley, and I'll sign your goddamn papers. As long as you don’t make that call to Tsepov.”
“Agreed.”
If only everything were that simple.