Page 24 of Betray Me
I know. I’ll make sure she’s on board.
The phone trembles in my hands as I read the timestamp—three days ago. Before our encounter in Stone’s office. Before his offer of alliance.
“The girl,” I whisper. “That’s me?”
Max’s face is unreadable. “That’s you.”
“You’ve been planning this for weeks.” The betrayal cuts deeper than it should. I barely know him, have no reason to expect loyalty. But something about his apparent sincerity made me want to believe.
“I’ve been planning to save both our asses, if necessary, yes.” He reaches for the phone, but I pull back. “Belle, listen to me. I meant everything I said about working together. But I also meant what I said about getting you out if things go wrong. Those papers, that money—it’s insurance.”
“For both of us?”
“For both of us.”
I stare at the screen, rereading the messages. The clinical efficiency of it should repel me, but instead, I find myself impressed. Max has been three steps ahead while I’ve been playing catch-up.
“Who’s ‘Asset Protection’?” I ask.
“Someone who specializes in making problems disappear.” He takes the phone back, pocketing it carefully. “Someone who’s helped other children of the network start over when their parents’ sins caught up with them.”
The implications hit me like ice water. “How many others have there been?”
“More than you’d think. The Queens and Gallaghers weren’t the only families involved, Belle. They were just the most visible.” Max’s voice drops. “There are others still out there, still operating. Still using children as leverage and commodities.”
My stomach turns. All this time, I thought we were dismantling the entire network. But we’ve only been cutting off tentacles while the head remains hidden.
“That’s why we need to work together,” Max continues. “Share what we know, piece together the bigger picture. Becauseif we don’t, we’re going to end up as scapegoats for people whose names will never see a courtroom.”
He’s right. The realization settles over me like a shroud. My parents, the Queens—they were middle management. Powerful, yes, but not the architects of this system. Someone higher up the food chain is watching this unfold, calculating which pieces to sacrifice and which to protect.
“What do you want from me? I ask finally.
“Everything you know about the network’s financial structure. Client lists, operational protocols, communication methods.” He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “In exchange, I’ll share what my family’s records show about cash flow, offshore accounts, shell companies.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then we both try to survive this alone.” His smile is grim. “And historically, that hasn’t worked out well for people in our position.”
I think of Luna, of how she survived by finding allies. Of Erik, who stood by her despite the danger. Of the isolation I’ve wrapped around myself like armor, and how it’s become more prison than protection.
“I need guarantees,” I say. “Proof that this alliance won’t end with me face-down in the ocean.”
Max reaches into his jacket, pulling out a manila envelope. “Financial records from my father’s firm. Enough to implicate him if I were to turn them over to the authorities.” He sets it on the bed between us. “My insurance becomes your insurance.”
The gesture is significant—he’s giving me leverage over his own family. Either he’s exceptionally stupid or exceptionally committed to this partnership.
I took the envelope, feeling the weight of it. “This doesn’t make us friends.”
“No,” he agrees. “But it makes us allies. And right now, that’s worth more than friendship.”
The conversation shifts then, becoming more clinical as we begin mapping out what each of us knows. Max spreads documents across my bed—financial records, communication logs, organizational charts that reveal the scope of the network’s operations. I contribute my own intelligence, the secrets I’ve gathered through years of careful observation.
Working together, patterns emerge that neither of us saw alone. Shell companies that exist solely to transfer money between legitimate businesses and criminal enterprises. A web of favors and blackmail that extends to every level of government and industry. Names that repeat across different operations, suggesting a core group of decision-makers who’ve remained hidden while others took the fall.
“Jesus,” Max breathes, staring at a particularly damning series of transactions. “They’ve been operating for decades.”
“Longer,” I murmur, thinking of my grandmother’s letter, of the hints that this system predates even our parents’ involvement. “This is generational, Max. Built over time by people who understood that the key to survival is staying invisible.”
