by Elle Gray
I’ve still got a nominal executive title should I ever choose to use it to come back to the company. I think it’s Executive Vice President of the Don’t Give a Damn Department, but I’d have to check on that to be sure. I really have no desire to work for my family’s company. Maybe that’s a little ungrateful since it’s the company that built my family’s wealth and paid for my lifestyle and my education. I’ve been able to do a lot of things because of my family name and the influence it carries. So, for that, I’ll always be grateful. I’m just not a media company kind of guy.
Archton Media is one of the largest media conglomerates in the world. It was founded by my family more than a century ago when the only form of media was print. Today, we still do print, but we’ve expanded to live, on-air television programs, radio programs, blogs, and podcasts. Brody’s girlfriend Marcy started off running her own blog doing the local crime beat. She actually helped me crack a case and that was how she met Brody. They clicked and have been inseparable ever since. I’m happy for both of them. They’re great together and deserve each other.
But Marcy has gone from a local crime blog to now running the number one most streamed true-crime podcast in all of Seattle. It’s been syndicated and she’s within the top ten across the whole country. Needless to say, it keeps her busy. I’d thought she’d be here today, but she’s down in Oregon chasing a story. She’s got so many of the same qualities that Veronica had that being around her is sometimes sort of being around Veronica in a way. She’s got the same sharp, cutting wit, intelligence to spare, and that dogged determination that always drove Veronica onward—even when it would have been smarter to stop. And just like Veronica, Marcy has a steely nerve and refuses to back down from anything or anyone.
“Hey, can you do me a favor?” I ask.
“Another one?” he cracks, arching an eyebrow.
“Stuff it, little brother,” I say. “I need you to dedicate a couple of security guards to this wing. I need somebody with eyes on this door at all times. Nobody can be allowed in, so we’re going to need to equip the door with a biometric scanner for extra protection—optical and fingerprint. Both of my ID points should still be on file in the database. And we need to set the biometrics so I’m the only one it recognizes. Well, me and Brody. We’ll get his ID points in the system. Other than us, nobody, and I mean nobody, can be allowed to see what’s in here. Not you, not Dad, not even in the case of emergency.”
“But in an emergency—”
“If the room catches fire and I’m trapped inside, don’t let the firefighters in,” I declare.
“Jesus, Pax,” he gasps. “What have you gotten yourself into?”
“I think I may be onto something here. I may finally have a bead on Veronica’s killers,” I say. “But there’s something big at play here. We’re dealing with some powerful people, so I need to find someplace safe and secure. I need a spot nobody can get into.”
A shadow crosses his face, and he looks away quickly. I don’t have to be a mind reader to know what’s going through his head. He’s struggling mightily to keep the expression of pity off his face, but he’s losing that fight. George is one of those who don’t believe Veronica was murdered. Like many others, he believes it was nothing more than a tragic accident and that I’m throwing my life away by insisting it wasn’t. He doesn’t believe the conspiracy. The look he’s giving me right now is identical to the one I gave Brian Takahashi.
Guess the shoe’s on the other foot now. Yeah, it kind of sucks. But just like Takahashi, I’m certain there’s a lot more going on here. He was right in the end. But people like George just will not listen, nor believe anything I say on the matter. I know that already, so I don’t know why I even told him what I’m doing.
“Pax, I—”
“I already know what you’re going to say, so save it,” I snap. “Whether you want to believe it or not, this is real. Very real.”
George frowns and I can see the pity in his eyes. He seems to be debating internally whether I’ve finally lost it or not and if he should call Dr. Harris to take me away to a nice, padded cell. I wouldn’t be the first Arrington forced to take a little mental health vacation. He takes a deep breath, looks around the room, and finally returns my gaze from the other side of the table, looking as if he’s not sure what to do—let me be or call the men with the butterfly nets. I take the lid off the box and drop it, then look up at him.
“No, I haven’t lost it,” I say.
He looks skeptical, so I give him a rundown of everything that’s happened so far. He frowns but still looks uncertain, so I roll up my sleeve to show him the bandage the surgeon-slash-veterinarian put on for me. There’s a small spot of crimson on it from a bit of blood that seeped out of the wound.
“Does this look like a hallucination or a figment of my imagination?” I ask.
“Well, no, but…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to. Those three words say all that needed to be said. I throw my hands up in the air and let out an exasperated breath.
“Do you really think I’d injure myself just to carry on some deluded fantasy?” I snap.
He shrugs, which only irritates me further. That he’d think I would go to that sort of extreme to carry on some fantasy is just asinine. He should know me better than that.
“Okay fine, get out, George,” I sigh. “And please do as I asked about the room’s security.”
“Pax—”
“Just humor me, George,” I say as I drop a couple of the files onto the table, spilling their contents and cursing under my breath.
George reaches out and picks up a copy of one of Victoria’s surveillance photos and looks at it closely. He frowns and turns his eyes to me, holding the picture up for me to see.
“Why do you have a photo of Didi Sjoberg?” he asks.
His words send a jolt of excitement and anticipation shooting through me. I’d feared getting an ID on the man in the photo was going to be difficult, but George just saved me a lot of time and effort without realizing it.
“It was in with Veronica’s things,” I say noncommittally. “Who is he?”
George stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. It’s an expression I’m getting used to seeing from him. He shakes his head and looks at me like I’m a simpleton.
“You really don’t know who this is?” he presses, his tone one of a disappointed teacher.
“You seem to have forgotten that I don’t run around in the rarified air you and your friends inhabit anymore,” I counter. “Why, I’m little better than one of the commoners you all look down on these days.”
He sighs and frowns as he looks at me. “Didi Sjoberg is the founder and CEO of Lomtin Laboratories. His work in the field of cancer research has been revolutionary,” George says. “He’s coming really close to finding a cure. He’s going to change the world for the better.”
“I didn’t know you hung out with the scientific crowd these days, little brother.” I manage to keep my cool, but the mention of Lomtin Laboratories sends a shot through me.
“I sit on a couple of museum boards with Didi. He’s a good man,” he says. “His philanthropic work exceeds what even Bill Gates does. He’s a real man of the people, Pax.”
“Assuming those people are worth nine or ten figures, sure.”
George frowns at me. “Have you always been this cynical? Or is this a new thing you’re trying out for fun?”
“It’s like you don’t even know me anymore, George,” I crack.
He looks down at the picture again and I see the light of horror dawning in his eyes. He snaps his head back up and stares at me.
“You can’t think Didi has anything to do with this—project—you’re pursuing,” he says.
“This project? Oh, you mean the murder of my wife?”
He sighs. “Pax, she died in a car accident. I know how difficult it has been for you and my heart breaks for you. It really does. But it’s time you face some hard realities,”
he says. “It was an accident and not some conspiracy that took her from you. And Didi certainly had nothing to do with it.”
“I guess we’ll see,” I reply. “My investigation is just starting to grow some wheels.”
“I’m not going to let you tarnish a good man’s reputation,” George says. “He’s a friend of mine and I will not allow it. Consider your privileges here suspended. I’m not going to let you use this room to conduct your witch hunt.”
I raise my eyes to his, my heart pounding in my ears and the blood in my veins igniting with a fire that spreads through my whole body. The dark rage inside of me rises like a malevolent tide and I walk around the table. George swallows hard and takes a step back.
“I’m warning you, Paxton. I’m done with this,” he says. “You lay a finger on me, and I will have you arrested. I’ve indulged your fantasy for long enough, but I’m your brother and I have to be honest with you. I’m sorry Veronica is dead but there wasn’t some grand conspiracy that killed her. She wasn’t murdered. She had an acc—”
I grab hold of George’s coat lapels and drive him backward, slamming him into the wall behind him. He lets out a grunt as his eyes grow wide. I loom before him, my nose inches from his, and narrow my eyes, glaring at him malevolently.
“I am going to use this room and you are going to do what I asked you to do to upgrade the security. And you are not going to breathe a word of any of this to your buddy Didi,” I growl.
George licks his lips nervously and I can feel him trembling beneath me. He’s not a fighter. Never has been. In fact, ever since we were kids, he’s shied away from confrontation. I’ve had to fight more than a few of his battles over the course of our lives. Outside a boardroom, George has always had a problem standing up for himself—especially against family. He never could stand up to our domineering father the way I always did, and as a result, has a much better relationship with him—if you can call meekly swaying to his tune a good relationship. And now it’s my turn to put the screws on him. It’s an asshole move, yeah, but I’m out of options at this point.
“Now, I don’t know if your friend is involved or not. That’s why I have to run an investigation to see who’s involved and who’s not. You very well may be right. St. Didi may have nothing to do with this. But until I check it out, I won’t know,” I explain, barely keeping my simmering rage in check. “And you can believe whatever you want about Veronica’s death. I know for a fact she was murdered—”
“What proof do you have of that? The word of some paranoid computer hacker?” he fires back, doing his best to assert himself.
I sigh and give myself a beat to calm down before I raise my eyes to him again. “That’s why we investigate, George—to obtain proof. To identify the guilty parties,” I say. “And you are going to stay the hell out of my way while I do that.”
“Didi is a good man. I’m not going to let you smear him—”
I grip his lapels and slam him against the wall harder. He squeaks in fear, and I see him silently chastising himself for it. There’s part of me that feels bad for intimidating my brother this way, but this is too important to treat him with kid gloves. I don’t care if he believes me right now or not. Somebody killed my wife and I’m going to prove it.
“You are not going to breathe a word of this to him, George. Let my investigation play out.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I will kill you,” I say. “If you let my wife’s murderer get away out of some misguided sense of loyalty to him, I will absolutely kill you.”
“You have got some nerve coming in here dropping threats and demands the way you are. I have half a mind to have security escort you out right now.”
“George, don’t try me. I’m closer than I have ever been to finding out who killed my wife. If you get in my way or tip off somebody I might be looking at as a suspect, there will be hell to pay,” I growl. “I don’t want you being the one who has to pay that tab, but if you kneecap my investigation, I will take it out of your hide. Do you understand me?”
“Listen, we—”
“I said, do you understand me?”
George looks into my eyes and apparently sees just how serious I am, because he nods quickly.
“Yeah. I understand,” he says, his voice cracking.
“Not a word to anybody about what I’m doing here,” I press. “Tell me you understand, George. Say the words.”
“Not a word to anybody,” he echoes me. “I got it, okay? Let go of me.”
I stare into his eyes a moment longer then let go of him. George scampers a few steps away and shakes himself out, trying to smooth out his jacket and appear like he’s unfazed by it all. I know him better than that, though. He looks at me, his face darkened with anger.
“You’re crazy, Paxton. I’m sorry about Veronica but her death has driven you mad.”
“Maybe. Which should worry you, because that means I’m capable of anything,” I counter. “Especially if I get the faintest whiff of you trying to go to your friend and undercut my investigation. You keep that in mind.”
“Pax—"
“Put it this way, George. You see all this stuff? All these files and photos?” I gesture around the room, “Brian Takahashi was killed for this stuff. Because he was working on this investigation. And when I found out where the documents were, I was attacked. They put a bullet in me to get this stuff. And now it’s here at Archton.”
He looks at me and gulps, the realization setting in, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Whether or not they killed Veronica, whoever wants these documents has already killed innocent people to try to get them. And you’re in this now, too. You know exactly where they are and what’s in them. I don’t know if it’s your friend Didi. I don’t know who did it. But are you willing to take the risk of them finding out?”
He turns without another word and heads for the door. He’s rattled. Maybe more so than I’ve ever seen him. He wasn’t even that rattled when we were kids and Marco Devers threatened to beat him up if George didn’t hand over his brand-new Nikes. It wasn’t that Marco needed shoes, he just enjoyed tormenting other kids. I’d handled Marco and he was never a problem again after that, but George hadn’t looked half as scared by the school bully as he did when I had him pinned to the wall just now.
“And get the security measures I want in place. Now,” I call after him just before the door slams shut.
I hate that I have to do that. Hate that I have to be this way. But we’re nearing a critical point and I can’t afford to have anything get blown up because my brother wants to stick up for his friends. I won’t allow it. Once my investigation is done, I’ll try to fix the bridge between us—and hope I didn’t burn it down completely.
Until then though, my singular focus will be on finding who murdered my wife. And as my eyes fall upon the picture of Didrik Sjoberg, I feel that rush of excitement I get when a case starts to build momentum. He may not ultimately be the one I’m looking for, but Veronica laid out a trail of breadcrumbs for me to follow—and nothing will stop me from getting to the end of this particular road.
Eighteen
Fat Louie’s BBQ Joint; Downtown Seattle
Brody and I have spent the better part of two days locked in the conference room poring over everything Veronica had collected, and we may have barely cleared the halfway mark. She’d been watching Lomtin Labs for quite a while and had put together reams worth of information. We’ve only scratched the surface and have a lot more to go. I’m certainly not at a point where I feel comfortable focusing on any one person as the prime suspect.
“It feels so nice to be out of that room,” Brody says.
“Tell me about it. I feel like I’m going cross-eyed going through all that paperwork.”
“Veronica was—thorough.”
I laugh softly. “Yeah, she was. Very thorough,” I reply. “I remember once, we had to buy a new refrigerator and she spent the better part of a week going through information a
nd reviews on half a dozen different models. She even put together a Powerpoint to show me all of our options, as well as the pros and cons of each.”
“Wow,” Brody says. “I don’t think thorough is the right word. There should be something much stronger for it.”
“Tell me about it.”
We sit in a booth near the back of the restaurant, which is mostly full, as it usually is. People love Fat Louie’s—and for good reason. I scan the crowd, looking for anybody who appears to be paying too much attention to us or who just looks out of place. I don’t see anybody, but that doesn’t mean they’re not out there. In fact, if I were a betting man, I’d guarantee they are. Having had two of his teams either disabled or disappeared, whoever is behind all of this can’t be sitting comfortably right now.
“I still can’t believe Veronica was buddy-buddy with Fish,” Brody comments. “I mean, the guy is an underworld legend. Some stories say he’s responsible for at least fifty murders.”
I nod as I take a sip of my soda. “Yeah, her friendship with the guy caught me off-guard too. Was not expecting that. But I’ll be honest, he’s not what I expected him to be,” I admit. “He saved my life. Patched me up. Granted, it was in the back of an animal hospital, but his doc did a good job of fixing me.”
“Yeah, I’m still puzzling over that one.”
I shrug. “Blake and Veronica both seem to be right. He really does seem to be trying to reinvent himself,” I say. “For the most part, anyway. But he is definitely not the monster I’ve always thought him to be.”
“Except for the part where he’s murdered a whole bunch of people,” Brody notes.
“I mean, drug dealers, pimps, and other mob guys. Kind of comes with the territory. And mostly when he was younger. But yeah, when it comes to the number of bodies on him, I believe it,” I reply. “The man is smart and he’s ruthless. When I worked patrol, I worked more than a few crime scenes that allegedly belonged to him. We could never prove it or make a case against him, but I saw quite a few bodies he dropped. He’s just different now. He really seems to want to change his legacy.”
