Page 12 of Sins of the Father

He cuts the call without waiting for a reply from me. I go to my window and search the street for black SUVs, strange faces, or any hint I was followed.

CHAPTER 6

CILLIAN

Orla has worked here for three weeks, she is fucking good at her job and already knows the office and business inside out. But something still unsettles me.

"Take these financial projections to my mother," I say, sliding a leather portfolio across my desk. "She needs to review them before the board meeting."

Orla looks up. "Should I schedule a review meeting afterward?"

"No. Just get her signature on the approval form." I wait a beat. "Bring her coffee. Black with one sugar."

"At the house?"

I nod. "Tuesday mornings she works from home. The staff expects you."

I catch a tiny spark in her eyes. No one is happy to see my mother, why would she be?

"I'll go now," she says, collecting the portfolio and her tablet.

After she leaves, I call Mother. "Orla is headed your way with the projections. I'll be there later on."

"You really trust this one?" Mother asks.

"Yes. She’s damn good."

Mother chuckles. "I’ll be the judge of that. See you shortly."

I arrive twenty minutes behind Orla, parking beside the fountain.

Voices echo from the passage. I trace them to my Mother's sitting room, pausing at the entrance. Orla sits with her, coffee cups on the antique table between them. Neither one notices me.

"Cillian at seventeen," Mother says, pointing to a photo. "Boxing champion that year. Broke his opponent's nose."

Orla looks at the picture. Her gaze lingers too long. "He looks very determined."

"Always has been." Mother turns the album page. "This was our first warehouse, before we expanded."

I step into the room. "Sharing family secrets, Mother?"

Both women turn. Mother smiles while Orla sits straighter.

"Just ancient history," Mother says.

"Fascinating history," Orla adds. "Your family history is a part of Boston."

I take a seat, watching them interact. "Did she sign the papers?"

"Yes." Orla hands me the folder. I notice her eyes drift back to the photo album.

"Show her the Sullivan Docks acquisition," I suggest to my mother, curious.

Mother flips to that page. "A major turning point in 1995. Tiernan negotiated with Sullivan for months."

Orla's fingers tighten on her cup. So, brief I almost miss it. Why would Sullivan Docks matter to her?

"That facility tripled our capacity," I add, watching her face.

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