Page 114 of A Love Most Fatal

“No, it’s contractual. Just one might be an error, but this is a pattern.” I turn Vanessa’s computer screen to face them. Almost all the clients were willing to send over their contracts for reference, each of these displaying the obvious price difference when laid side by side, though identical signatures.

“These clients signed for millions more than what was reported in your system and vending through a third party bank before depositing into company accounts.”

“Where did the extra money go?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit, then scroll to the top of the document. “There is one common denominator though.”

I pull up a separate document and let them sit side by side.

“I don’t see the issue,” Willa admits.

“Tell them,” Mary says.

“It’s Cillian,” I say. “He’s the closer on every one of the duplicated contracts.”

The room is silent for what feels like three minutes, and I am half-certain they’re going to kick me out for even offering such an idea, but then Willa grabs the laptop and Sean kneels beside her while she clicks and types and scrolls for ten minutes.

“You’re right,” Sean breathes.

He already has his phone out.

“Wait,” Mary puts her hand over his. “Don’t call him yet.”

“Did you know about this?” I ask him, considering Cillian is his brother.

Sean looks like I’ve kicked Ranger right in front of him, like even asking is the biggest betrayal I could have managed.

“I wouldn’t.” Sean could be lying, but he’d have to be an exceptional actor for that to be the case.

“He wouldn’t,” Willa agrees. “This is all Cillian.”

“It’s got his rat ass name written all over it,” Mary says.

“He’s been stealing that kind of money right from under our noses, who knows what else he’d been taking,” Willa says and slams the laptop shut.

“The shipments?” I ask and all three of them look up at me in unison. The implications aren’t lost on them: if he oversaw stealing those shipments, he was also probably the one in charge of the building fire. Of Mary getting shot.

“And now he has Vanessa,” Sean says before I have to.

42

VANESSA

I don’t knowhow many hours pass before I see Cillian again. My wrists are scraped raw from trying to free myself from the bonds and my arms ache both from my futile efforts and from being held so tightly in place for so long.

My stomach feels like a gnawing pit, tearing at itself in hunger, and the burning in my throat has only gotten worse. There’s an acute ache behind my left eye that has been throbbing as the sun has traveled across the sky. It hasn’t set yet but it’s low enough that I know it’s evening already.

I’ve realized that torture might be most effective in an empty floor full of windows. You can’t pretend more or less time has passed when you can see just how much sun is lighting up the sky. It might be more grueling than a basement.

He strolls in with a tray of food with him that makes my stomach growl instantly. His hand is also bandaged, and it fills me with a spark of glee to see that I left a mark. If he lives through this, I hope it scars.

“How was your time to think?” he asks, ever chipper.

“Comfortable.”

“Good.” He pulls up his chair again and sits down in front of me. If I had access to my hands, I would claw his face. “I brought you dinner.”

I am exceptionally wary of anything this man wants to offer me. Certainly, it’s drugged. When I press my lips shut at his offered spoonful of soup he sighs and takes a bite himself.

---