Page 65 of Bitter Lies

Darius will want answers. A lot has happened since our last meeting three weeks ago. And I need those before he calls for a report.

A knot of tension forms in my neck as I struggle to piece it all together.

Shit went south when Rico reached out to Trent about selling the Botticelli. The whole thing felt off from the beginning. Trent dropped everything, even a meeting I was told was a priority, just to meet with Rico. I didn’t like it. Not knowing why was enough to put me on edge.

But it didn’t stop there.

Leaning back in my chair, I stare up at the ceiling as the memory of that meeting plays in my head.

The two men going at it. Threatening to expose secrets. Neither one backing down. Tension thick enough to choke on.

I hate going into situations uninformed. It didn’t take me long to realize I was missing something. That wasn’t just a negotiation over a rare piece of art. They were two men with a long and bitter history between them.

One I still haven’t had time to dig into because of another problem. Cort Theiss.

I pull up Cort’s file and stare at it, hoping the answers I’m looking for will jump out at me. They don’t.

Cort’s fallen headfirst into this shit show. He’s tied up in this somehow. A fact I learned from Izzy when she mentioned he’d been at the penthouse.

What the hell was he doing at Rico’s?

Tapping my finger against the desk, my irritation builds.

According to Izzy, Alma recognized him. He wasn’t just a passing face. He’s someone she claimed visited Rico often, which raises all sorts of questions.

Rico’s an investor. He vets potential business clients thoroughly. Cort’s business has been in trouble for a while. If Rico knew that and still went into business with the jeweler, he’d have a plan. Likely, he’d seen something worth his time, or maybe it was something else.

Did Cort go to Rico for help? Or the other way around? How long has this been going on? And how the hell did I not know about it?

None of this sits well with me. Cort’s not a nobody. He’s taken up enough of my time these last few months. The man’s knee-deep in enough shady deals that I should’ve caught the whispers. So, either he’s gotten extremely well at hiding things… or someone’s covering for him. My guess is the latter. And when Silas hears about this, there will be hell to pay.

My head hurts. So many questions and no answers. My job just got ten times more difficult. It’s forcing me to split my attention between all of this.

I drag my mind back to the problem at hand. Keeping Trent happy.

My orders are to search the penthouse, check the gallery, open the safes, photograph everything, and send it all to him.

Straightforward on paper. If only it were that easy.

On a grunt, I let out a slow breath, my mind replaying the specifics of the situation. I have a bad feeling about this.

He’s holding back. I can feel it. The only thing he’s given me is that someone’s trying to pin Rico’s murder on him. Won’t tell me what I’m looking for or who tipped him off. Just expects me to handle it, no questions.

And then there’s the painting. He didn’t ask me to take it, just to make sure it’s still there. That doesn’t add up.

Rico’s dead. His place has already been hit once. So why leave it behind? He was ready to take it before. We’d discussed it and were working on a plan on how to make that happen.

So, what changed?

Then there are the safes. No direction, no explanation. Just open them and send him everything inside.

I hate going in blind. My gut tells me the key to taking down the Doyles is buried somewhere in that penthouse. And Trent’s sending me in alone to find it. Because he trusts me—he shouldn’t. A smart man sends a team. You don’t hand one man that kind of power unless you’re more afraid of what might be found.

It’s easier to silence one than to control many. The more people who know, the harder it is to keep secrets buried. And I’ll be using that to my advantage.

Now to figure out how to get inside. It won’t be easy. With a fire and a murder, the place will be crawling with law enforcement and fire inspectors looking for answers. Trent has a few bobbies on the payroll who could get me in, but it’s the honest ones we have to worry about. He won’t want to draw attention, so I have to find a way that’s less obvious.

Pushing my chair back from my desk, I stand and pace my cramped office, my hand tugging at my hair. Back and forth. Again. Again.