Page 117 of Steal My Heart
“Little over a month remaining on his sentence,” Maks continues. “He was transferred from another facility and assigned as your brother’s cellmate over two months ago.”
“Any independent verification of him going by the nickname ‘Cornbread?’”
“No.”
“So we have Al’s word, and not much else at this point.”
“Have you considered the possibility?—”
“That Al fabricated the story to save her brother by throwing this cellmate under the bus?” An annoyed sound rumbles in my chest. “Yes, I’ve considered it.”
“Fabien’s released in seven days,” Maks reminds me.
“10,080 minutes; I’m well aware.” Catching myself tenting my fingers just like Vitto Calvani, I drop them. “I want security at tomorrow’s event doubled, and I want Al on lockdown while we’re gone.”
He nods, walking out.
“Am I being too soft with Fabien, or is that my father talking?” I ask Nola, who’s arching her back with a yawn.
If the cat holds the answers, she’s keeping them close to the vest as she hops down and saunters off.
My phone rings; it’s my broker. “Mr. Calvani, wonderful news,” she says excitedly. “Fox Investment Group has accepted your offer on the Hotel D’Amico property. I’m sending the contract over for your electronic signature. If you can get that signed straight away, they’re wanting to move fast on the closing.”
“How fast?”
“Tuesday. I know that’s Mardi Gras, and your lender might need more time?—”
“I’ll have a cashier’s check ready to close on Tuesday.”
“Perfect! I’ll see you at closing,” she gushes, no doubt excited about her cut of the pie.
After calling my investment broker and him being not nearly as enthusiastic—in fact, I was concerned he was having a heart attack—I read over the contract and sign the multipage document.
The house phone rings, and I answer. “Yes?”
“Nic is here to see you.”
“Send him to the study.”
While I’m waiting, I pull up the information Al forwarded me about her study abroad program.
Barcelona?Al doesn’t even speak Spanish. I’m surprised she didn’t choose a program in Australia—to be as far away from me geographically as she possibly could.
On second thought, if I have to kill Fabien, having a few oceans between me and Al might not be a bad thing. One has to wonder if she’s been studying those serial killer documentaries for a reason.
Next on my never-ending to-do list, reviewing the report from one of Maks’ old military contacts, being that I don’t trust the family involved in this one.
What the investigator discovered has my jaw dropping, but after I consider it for a moment, it makes sense. Mulling over my options, I decide to sit on the information for now.
Closing my computer, I stroll across the room, pouring myself an espresso. Nic knocks, and I beckon him inside.
“Kickups.” He hands me an envelope, and I take a seat and motion for him to join me.
He does, and I count the earnings.
“There’s a substantial dip?—”
“You did shut down the call girl ring, boss,” he reminds me.
