“You know what I mean. Reed is a powerful man, with a lot of friends. It would behoove you to tread carefully where his interests are concerned.”
Having offered his advice, he hung up the phone.
* * *
Ten minutes later, I was at the table in the Ops Room, fuming at my father as I sipped a bottle of water and flipped through an image search of antique notebooks, four-poster beds, candelabras, simple desks, still looking for something that would lead us to Balthasar.
I had absolutely nothing to show for it.
There were pictures of all those things. But nothing that connected to Balthasar, at least as far as I could tell, and nothing that connected that particular room—the layout or the furnishings—to anything else. It seemed to be just a random room he’d picked or invented in order to attempt his seduction. Because that, I thought, was what he’d believed it would be. He’d worn a romance novel rake’s clothing, put me in a lush bed dotted with candlelight, and had been holding a book when I woke up. When he’d failed to woo me on his own, he’d determined to look like Ethan, hoped that would work. It didn’t. Wouldn’t have. But he’d seemed to believe it would . . . He’d thought he’d be able to seduce me with his charm and his glamour and the scene he’d believed he could set.
“I’ve got something about Balthasar, where he’s staying now.”
We all looked up as Juliet pulled off her headset.
Luc rose from his spot at the head of the table. “Talk to me, Jules.”
“Our guard did a very good job. She went to the real-estate company, flirted with one of the account managers, bought him drinks. He loosened up, told her about Balthasar.” She looked down at the notepad in her hand. “He gave the manager some malarkey about how he wasn’t satisfied with the amenities in the old place. Requested another condo specifically.”
“Oh, really?” Luc said. “Where’d he go?”
“The penthouse in the Palisade Building.” That was one of the glass high-rises along the Chicago River, its sleek, stacked columns frequently a highlight of river architecture tours.
Luc whistled. “That’s quite an upgrade.”
“Ya. Condo’s owned by Ram, LLC, but the account manager didn’t know anything about that company. But—get this—both units have been comped. Balthasar’s not paying a thing.”
Luc’s eyes went flat. “Go. Get visual confirmation he’s at the location, follow if he goes anywhere. Keep your distance, and do not approach. Report back if you get a visual, and update on every hour. Take a temp with you, and no heroics.”
“On that,” Juliet said, and Brody followed her out the door.
Ram, LLC, I thought. I’d heard of a lot of LLCs lately, and a lot of three-letter LLCs. Was that really a three-letter word . . . or three-letter acronym?
I pulled out my phone.
“You got something, Sentinel?”
I held up a finger to hold Luc’s inquiry while Jeff answered my call.
“Merit!” Jeff said. “What’s the good word?”
“That’s my question for you. That list of entities Malik gave you—the ones from Navarre House. Can you send that to me?”
“The corporations? Sure. I’ll send it.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you back.” I’d barely hung up the phone when the list came through, eighteen three-letter acronyms that looked more like stock abbreviations than names . . . including RAM, LLC.
My heart began to gallop. “It’s not Ram, LLC, Luc. It’s R-A-M, LLC. It’s one of the companies that Celina gave a limited power of attorney over the House’s investment accounts.” I scanned the list, the accompanying Navarre connection. “In this case, Navarre’s largest investment account.”
The room went silent.
“The Circle owns Balthasar’s condo?” Luc asked quietly. “That’s quite a coincidence.”
“Yeah. It is. Who owned the first one? The one he moved from?”
“Uh,” Luc said, tapping the screen to pull up old data. “Company called Element, LLC.”
One of the temps, a square-shouldered kid with thick, dark hair, equally dark eyes, and a wide smile, spun around in his computer chair. “I’m not sure it’s Element, sir.”