Page 66 of His Son's Ex

She hesitates, glancing away, and I know she has no real leverage. She’s tried it before. My money is clean on the books, and any attempt to drag me into court would expose her financial mismanagement, not mine.

“Take the money you already get from your family and be grateful. Now get the fuck out of my office.”

Linda’s cheeks burn red. For a moment, she looks like she might retort, but instead she snatches her purse off the chair, letting out a dramatic huff. “This isn’t over.”

I shake my head. “It never is with you. My assistant will see you out.” I turn my back on her.

She sighs in disgust, turns on her heel, and strides to the door. I don’t relax until I hear it slam shut behind her.

God, she drains me. The only solace is knowing she left empty-handed, but she’s always been cunning. I’m sure she’ll come up with another attempt to get money.Let her try, I think darkly.

I’ve handled Linda before, and I can do it again.

Only this time, I have experience and wisdom on my side.

An hour or so later, I’m settled back at my desk, still seething from Linda’s demands. But there’s no time to brood. A different kind of problem demands my attention.

I need to uncover whatever Eva’s hiding.

My mind keeps replaying questionable moments spent with her. The way her guard would instantly go up the moment I mentioned her past, a cold, distant look in her eye, a downright refusal to talk about it. My instincts, honed from a lifetime of dealing with shady characters, scream she’s hiding something. Something big.

I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts. One friend in the local precinct owes me favors. I dial his number.

He picks up on the second ring, caution in his voice. “Bellacino.”

“Jameson,” I say. “Need a quick background check. Quietly.”

He sighs. “You know I can’t keep doing you these personal favors, man. The department’s cracking down.”

I chuckle. “You said that last time. But I believe we have an arrangement.”

“Right. Fine. Give me the details.”

I glance at the door, ensuring it’s locked. “Eva Smith. That’s what she goes by, at least. I have her info from her employment forms. Sending it over now.”

A moment of silence. “Alright, got it. You suspect it’s not her real name?”

“I suspect she’s not who she says she is. I need whatever you can find. Address history, employment history, birth certificate, family members, all of it. And I need it soon.”

He mumbles something indecipherable. “Fine. But if this draws attention, I’m out.”

“It won’t. And if it does, I got you.”

He lets out an unamused grunt. “Sure.”

The line goes dead. I let out a slow breath, placing the phone on the desk. Guilt gnaws at me for the violation of trust, but I need to know more.

I can’t just let her go.

Less than an hour later, my phone rings, a call from an unknown number. My heart thuds as I answer. “Yes?”

“It’s Jameson,” he says in a low voice. “We need to be quick. I took a cursory look at your Ms. Smith. Nothing matches up with official records from the last decade. The data on her social ispatchy. It’s like someone wiped out her past and created a new identity for her.”

My pulse spikes. “So she’s a ghost?”

Jameson coughs. “In a sense. She has minimal documentation prior to a few years ago. I’m doing a deeper dive on some flagged addresses and cross-referencing with older case files. If she’s in witness protection, or if she’s forging documents, it’ll take time to confirm.”

I grip the arm of my chair, knuckles whitening. “Keep digging. I don’t care what it takes. She’s important and I need the truth.”

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