My phone buzzes with a message
Tobias: Clementi boys are at the warehouse.
Arthur Clementi’s sons took over the family business not quite a year ago. They’ll be made an example of today.
Me: Wait until my arrival. I want to be sure they see my face.
Tobias: Got it.
Tobias is my right-hand man, a soldier I trust with my life. The only one. He and I grew up together, his father serving my father, his grandfather serving my grandfather. All in the family.
Cristina’s food arrives. She picks up a piece of bacon with her fingers and bites into the crispy strip, then puts a forkful of eggs into her mouth. For a moment, I wonder if she’s forgotten I’m here as she goes about buttering her toast. I’m glad to see she has a good appetite.
I put my phone face-down and turn to Cristina. “Would you like to see your uncle?”
“What?”
“You need to sign some paperwork anyway.”
“What paperwork?”
“Would you like to see him, yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“Car leaves in an hour for New York City. Elise is packing your things now.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a nice guy.”
“Yeah right. Why really, Damian?”
“I need your signature. Now that you’re eighteen, the foundation is yours.”
She goes silent, disappearing into her own mind for a long minute, then turns to me. “He said you managed it after my father’s murder. Why would you do that?”
“Do you have any idea what your father did? Where the money for the foundation truly came from?”
“We’ve always had money, enough to give, my family–”
“Do you really think you lived like you did without any actual source of income?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.
“It was old money,” she falters. “My father invested it.”
“Are you this sheltered?”
She puts her coffee down. “What are you talking about?”
“The foundation was a cover. Your uncle must have told you at least a little about it.”
“Cover for what?” she asks.
“Wealthy donors with whom the upstanding politicians of society could not be publicly associated.”
She studies me, forehead creasing, but then she shakes her head. “The foundation does good work.”
“Among other sorts of work.”
She goes silent. Her uncle has told her. She just hasn’t come to terms with it yet.
“Aren’t you curious what he did for that money?”
“I’m not curious about anything you have to say.”
“I told you last night you’re a bad liar. Remember?”
Her cheeks flush, and her lashes lower.
“Besides, I think you’re very curious.”
She puts her fork down and turns to me. “Fine. Tell me.”
“Your father bought political influence on behalf of some very bad people, Cristina. Not to mention the laundering he did. Although that part hadn’t evolved just yet. I guess he had a lot on his plate.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t believe you.”
“Think about it. Think about the house you lived in. Think about your uncle and your cousins. Think about your clothes and the cars and the schools. How do you think he paid for that?”
The line between her eyebrow deepens as she processes.
“Your father had ties with some less than desirable members of society, and through the generous donations of these patrons, the foundation was able to buy power and influence. Through your father, these men acquired access to organizations they’d never had been allowed to get near. Imagine the kind of influence they could wield politically when their money kept the politicians in their pockets.”
“You’re lying.”
“He’d gotten sloppy, though, your father. Blackmail is a tricky business. Guess he thought he had nothing to left to lose after your mother and brother died.”
She winces like I’ve struck her, and I shift my gaze away.
Low blow, asshole, even for you.
But I continue because the things she said last night, well, they were below the belt too, and I owe her for those.
“Honestly, if we hadn’t killed him, my guess is he had six months tops before someone else came after him.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Now that you’re eighteen, the foundation is yours. It’ll all be transferred to your name.”
Cristina’s eyes are on me. On my mouth. I smile, then lick my lips.
She clears her throat and shifts her gaze up to mine. “My parents wouldn’t be involved in anything like that.”
“Not your parents. Just your father. I heard they were having trouble for some time before the accident. I wonder if it was because your mother learned the truth.”
She pauses, considers. “My uncle…he was my guardian. He looked after the company until I came of age.”
“Unfortunately, your uncle isn’t half the businessman your father was, and honestly, your father had left him in a very vulnerable position. I took over operations while Uncle Adam looked after you, and I paid him for his time and his silence. Now that you’re eighteen, though, it’s all yours.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“The good, the bad, and the ugly,” I continue as if she hasn’t spoken.
“What does that mean?”