Page 11 of Bound Lies

My safest bet is to dip into my emergency cash fund.

I rifle through shoe boxes until I find the one I’m looking for.

Inside is a bundle of cash that I’ve managed to save up over the years from odd jobs here and there, as well as my passport and a burner phone.

My father might not have taught me much, but one thing he did teach me was to always be one step ahead.

I empty out the box and stuff the contents into my purse. It’s not much, but at least, it’s something.

As I’m zipping up my suitcase and setting it by the door, the front door slams shut.

Quickly rushing over to my window, I peer down at the driveway just as Rion is climbing into his ridiculous custom Range Rover with headlights so bright I’m sure you could see them from space. It’s excessive and unnecessary, and was purchased immediately after my father was laid to rest, which is a little coincidental if you ask me…

The moment the blinding headlights have disappeared, I creep out of my room and down the hall.

The long Persian runner stretches down the center of the hallway, muffling my footsteps as I make my way to Oscar’s room at the far end.

The familiar wave of grief hits me as I pass the door to the bedroom that once belonged to my younger sister.

Her room has been kept exactly how it was when she died, like some kind of sadistic time capsule. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve gone in there since she died.

Exactly one.

I keep my eyes on my feet and quickly hurry past before I lose my nerve.

When I reach Oscar's door, I suck in a breath and press my ear to the dark wood.

My brother has an adjoining study to his bedroom, which means he can lock himself away for hours at a time, surviving on nothing but cigars and whiskey.

I take the silence that filters through as my cue to start digging. If I’m going to get out of this arranged marriage to Sean O’Keefe, I’m going to either need to find something else to offer him in my place or take him and, hopefully, my uncle down.

At the other end of the hall is my father’s office.

Just the thought of going inside has my stomach twisting with anxiety. It’s a room that has always been off-limits to me, ever since I was a small child. As I got older and more opinionated, I would question this rule but would find myself only angered by his answer. I was a woman; therefore, I did not belong in his office. My role was to focus on keeping up my appearance and to find a husband, not waste time questioning the decisions of men.

Unfortunately for my father, I inherited his iron-strong will, which, if he were alive, would have come to bite him on the ass. Instead, Rion will learn just how strong my Walsh genes are.

The air inside my father’s study is stale and smells of liquor.

I flick on the desk lamp, and warm yellow light spills over the mahogany desk and piles of carefully organized folders.

This was his throne. This was the place where my father built his empire.

I walk slowly around the desk, letting my fingers brush over the edge. The last time I was in here, I was sixteen. I had just told him I wanted to study business at Columbia, and he laughed in my face.

"Who do you think you're fooling, Riley? You’re destined to be a wife and a mother, nothing more.”

That was his decree for the daughter he thought he had. He never saw me for who I actually am.

But tonight, I’ll show him. Show them.

I open the top drawer of the desk and begin rummaging through the contents.

Nothing but dried-out pens, a few mismatched cufflinks, and business cards for various clubs.

The one below yields much of the same, but I refuse to get discouraged.

Months ago, before my father died, I overheard him on the phone, bragging about having dirt on Sean O’Keefe, which he planned on using to blackmail him into falling in line and helping him take down the Sullivans.