“I’m not blaming you, Forrest,” Roger said, turning his way. “I know what happened. I know if Bronco and Jacob hadn’t stepped in when they did, you’d have been killed. And I know Galen hated me more for that. Which I never minded.”
Forrest wasn’t surprised Roger knew what had happened. He was, however, surprised to learn it had been Bronco who helped Jacob save his life that night. Remorse settled deep at the way he’d turned his back on those men, on his inheritance and on the only people he’d ever cared about for so many years.
“I did mind,” Roger said, leaning forward and lifting both brows, “how Galen threatened my daughters, and I did mind how he prevented you from returning home.”
Forrest’s hands balled into fists. He’d wished a million times things had turned out differently, but never more so than right now. “That will never happen again. Galen threatening your daughters.”
“I know it won’t,” Roger said. “So let’s get down to business. Besides being a lawyer, Ty’s a private investigator and has learned your father may get a new trial.”
Forrest was more than ready to get down to business and knew where he had to start. Whether he wanted Roger to be involved or not was no longer an issue. Protecting Twyla and her sisters meant he’d take all the help he could get. But blood, in Roger’s eyes, ran thicker than water. It was time he knew the truth. “Galen Reynolds isn’t my father.”
Roger’s sigh seemed full of relief. “Karen finally told you.”
Taken aback, Forrest asked, “You knew?”
“My wife, Rose, knew, and she told me,” Roger said. “I’ve never told a soul, but I wanted to tell you more often than not.”
“My uncle Silas told me while I was staying at their house,” Forrest explained, “and my mother confirmed it when I returned home before going to Nebraska.”
Roger waited as if he expected Forrest to say more, but Forrest figured he’d said enough. Turning to Ty, he said, “I know a new trial has been requested—I want to know who requested it.” He turned toward Roger and asked, “And why.”
Roger answered. “Ty hasn’t figured out who’s behind it, but he will. He’s the best of the best.”
That was fitting, and explained plenty. Roger only hired the best of the best, so for Ty to be so readily included in the Nightingale family, he had to be top-notch. Yet Forrest questioned exactly what type of private investigator Ty might be. However, either way—gangster or federal agent—the man could uncover the answers he hadn’t been able to find. “You were behind Galen’s arrest,” Forrest said to Roger. “Why California? Why not here?”
“Because I wanted him as far away from my daughters as I could get him,” Roger said. “And from you and your mother, too.”
Forrest needed a more definite answer than that, and he let his gaze say so.
Roger shook his head as if in dismay. “As hard as it may be to believe, I don’t know everything. But I do know your mother held the purse strings.”
Forrest had no idea what that had to do with anything. “There was no money,” he said. It wasn’t something he was bitter about.
“There had been at first,” Roger said. “Probably more than anyone knew.”
Forrest didn’t need another story about how much money his grandfather used to have, so he asked, “What was your involvement?”
By the way Roger leaned back and rubbed his chin, Forrest became concerned his instincts had been right, and he wasn’t certain what his response would be if Roger admitted his involvement in the opium trade.
“You know the reason Galen was arrested, don’t you?” Roger asked.
“The stories or the truth?” Forrest asked, growing exasperated. He now knew where Twyla got her antics from. “Or the fact the mastermind behind Galen’s opium trade was never implicated.”
Roger lifted a brow. “You think it’s me?”
It was a bit strange, the way Forrest had no problem ascertaining that Galen, the man everyone thought was his flesh and blood, was guilty, yet he didn’t want to believe that Roger, the biggest bootlegger in the state, wasn’t innocent.
Roger pushed away from his desk and stood, filling the room with a formidable presence that had endowed him with the nickname The Night. He walked around his desk, to the front, where he looked down upon Forrest and Ty, who were still seated. “I’ll never admit to some of the dealings I’ve been in that have got me to where I am, but, when comes it to having any dealings with Galen Reynolds, I’ll sing louder than a canary behind iron bars. I won’t be a fall guy for any of his monkeyshines.” He leaned a hip against the edge of his desk. “From the moment Galen took over the Plantation, it became little more than an opium den. The locals didn’t like it, but there wasn’t a lot to be done. At the time, opium wasn’t illegal, and our proximity to the multimodal hub of international cargo in Duluth and Superior gave easy access for the drug to enter the States. Especially once Congress passed a law that banned the import of all opium. Agents weren’t assigned to the Port of Duluth-Superior like they were along the coasts.”