Feeling her gaze roaming over my form not long after, I smirk to myself. I’m not one to puff out my chest and preen, but it feels good to show my girl what I’m capable of as I unleash hit after hit to the punching bag. Sweat rolls down my body and I push myself harder for her benefit. The air in the room thickens. I have half a mind to abandon my workout and pin her to the bed instead, vent out the rest of my frustrations with my cock buried deep in her body.
It’s a temptation that’s always there, but I refocus on my breathing and go again.
Almost an hour later, Maisy sucks in a sharp breath and punches both her fists in the air. “I did it! Holy shit, I found it.”
My gaze swings around, instinct always drawing me to her, and the heavy bag thumps into my side. I grunt, lifting my hands to steady it, then swipe an arm across my face to clear the sweat.
“You got in?”
“Yeah. There was a passcode with a number sequence tucked away within a subfolder.” She rolls her lips between her teeth as she pushes the laptop away on the bed. “Um, the numbers line up with the date of the crash.”
I scoff.
Of course they do.
Smug assholes, hiding everything in plain sight like they can’t get caught for what they covered up. I blow out a breath and stalk across the room. Anxious ripples move through my stomach the closer I get to the bed, to Maisy, to the laptop with the answers I’ve been waiting for.
“So what’s in the termination file?” I brace one hand behind her, leaning over to see the screen.
She pulls the laptop close again and scrolls through. “It’s a notice of resignation. Your parents signatures are both on it.”
I squint at where she points. “That’s forged. Mom never made a loop for the L in Wilder. I remember because I used to try to copy her signature.”
“It looks like other than that there’s a PDF email thread, like it was printed out.” She clicks on it, but the screen prompts her for another password. She tries the one she used to open the file and her shoulders relax in relief when we’re granted access. “I think this IP address at the top means it was on a private company server. Look, it’s from your dad’s email at Nexus Lab, but it isn’t with the company.”
“That’s your mom’s email.” I jab at the screen, unable to stop seething. Another email address catches my eye. “Wait, it was all of them and someone from Stalenko Corp. Why would they keep that if it connects them all? Password or not, if anyone found this it’s solid proof. Scroll down.”
My eyes fly back and forth, reading so fast the decade old email conversation blurs. The words jump out at me as I try to process what I’m seeing.
Previous payment is insufficient…risk of the supply chain tracing distribution of controlled substances back to the source…file a patent if our demands aren’t met…
The responses from Stalenko Corp are clipped and unrelenting. They don’t say it outright, but the threat between the lines is clear: cooperate or face the fatal consequences.
My fingers dig into the sheets and I lean over far enough that Maisy ends up almost folded in half beneath me while I try to get closer to the screen. As if being closer will change what’s in front of me.
“Fox, are you okay?”
Maisy twists to put a hand on my chest. It caves as I stumble back from the bed, shoving my fingers into the sweaty roots of my hair.
“Fox.” Her voice is gentle and tentative. She reaches out to brush my back. “Talk to me.”
Thoughts collide in my head one after another. The undeniable truth is right there in black and white. Even Colton couldn’t find it out.
My parents hid the samples and the patent paperwork they started in the garage because they were extorting Stalenko Corp for more money in the middle of helping them plan for Ridgeview to become the main manufacturer for the Russian syndicate’s drug empire. They were in on it the entire time with Jacqueline Landry. Modern day criminals, working out their business deals over email instead of meeting in back alleys on foggy nights.
Memories from my childhood reshape and crystalize, moments where I saw them as innocent viscerally replaced with the harsher clarity of their whispers at night when they thought I was asleep.
Money.
They were always arguing about money and what they were going to do.
No.
In a swift move I grab the laptop, intent on throwing it through the goddamn window.
“Fox,” Maisy says sharply, placing a hand on my inked arm.
My grip flexes as I drag in labored breaths. Red floods my vision and my heart pounds. I let her pry the laptop from my grip and she sets it aside. The ache in my jaw makes me rub at it and it takes effort to unclench my teeth. Spinning away from her, I begin to pace in time with my furious heartbeat.