Page 21 of Bound By Blood and Lies

“What did you do, Roman?”

“I killed her,” I shrug.

There is no point softening it. I don’t lie and I don’t dilute facts to make them easier to swallow. Quinn was a snake and she earned her ending. I don’t understand why this Company pretends women are somehow exempt from consequence. They can be just as calculating, just as dangerous, just as capable of destabilising everything we’ve built. If someone is a threat to Fae, they cease to be protected by anything as irrelevant as gender.

“What the fuck do you mean you killed her?” Dad barks, staring at me like I’m joking.

“I mean she’s dead,” I clarify calmly. “She orchestrated Fae’s abduction.”

Dad shoots to his feet so abruptly the chair skids back against the floor. His palms hit the desk with a sharp crack. Colour floods his face, climbing fast from collar to cheekbones as his anger is etched into every hard line. If I didn’t know how ruthlessly he maintains his health, I might think he was on the brink of a cardiac arrest.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” he shouts. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just jeopardised? The alliance? The contracts? Years of negotiation?—”

“She was a traitor,” I cut in as my voice whips around the room.

“You don’t get to decide that unilaterally!”

“She set Fae up,” I snap. “Quinn worked with Fisher and lured Fae out.”

“Quinn was stability Roman! What aren’t you getting? She wasn’t just a suitable match in The Company but also in our private sectors. So fucking what,” he raises his voice, “if she lured Fae… she was the better choice!”

“SHE WAS A FUCKING TRAITOR!” I scream back. “She was part of an elaborate scheme that undermines everything The Company stands for, everything that WE STAND FOR!”

My father’s fingers curl slowly against the edge of the desk as if he’s physically restraining the impulse to react. His breathing evens out by force as he swallows and looks at me.

“What do you mean?” he asks, with a bitter edge to his voice.

I exhale, forcing the surge of temper back, as I cross the room and drop the folder onto his desk. It lands with a heavy slap against the polished wood.

“I mean,” I say, opening the folder and pulling the first stack of papers free, “that we have a problem far bigger than a broken engagement.”

I spread the copies across his desk and smooth them flat with the palm of my hand, arranging them in a sequence that tells its own story. The ledger excerpts sit first, followed by the transaction trails and the coded entries pulled from the second book. I selected the sections carefully before I left the house, enough to show a pattern without exposing the girls any further than they already have been.

I place the manufacturing receipt for the keyring beside them as well as the coded dossier with Ackworth’s name buried inside it. He looks down at the spread of paper without speaking. I don’t rush him. I watch. His eyes track steadily across the pages, absorbing the information in silence. I note the way his brow pulls low as he flicks to the next sheet. I search his face forrecognition. For fear. For anticipation. For any sign that this confirms something he already knew.

But what I see instead is irritation giving way to confusion and confusion settling into something colder.

“What the fuck?” he whispers under his breath as he flips to the next page.

Hope and gratitude flood my chest. This doesn’t look rehearsed. He doesn’t look cornered. He looks like a man who has just been handed information he did not anticipate and if I believed in God, I might thank Him that the version of my father I grew up respecting is still sitting in front of me.

“These were in Fisher’s hidden office,” I explain. “I was made aware by Quinn that he had a home that was not registered to him. Last night we went on a mission in the hopes of bringing Fae home. But Dad…”

He looks up when I pause and I draw in a slow breath, forcing my voice to steady before I continue.

“Fisher is running a sex trafficking ring. He is abusing women and girls.”

“You’re certain?” my dad asks, dragging a hand down his face before leaning back slowly in his chair.

“Yes.”

“And Quinn?”

“She not only confirmed Fisher contacted her,” I say evenly, “she admitted there’s someone above him. Look at page sixteen.”

He adjusts the stack as he finds the page I’ve marked and I lean forward to tap the name with my finger. His eyes flick to mine as he reads it.

“Ackworth,” he exhales. “You think Ackworth is his superior?”