Page 53 of Penalty Kiss
“And onthatnote,” Tara says, throat clearing like a cover, “go put your stuff away before your hockey duffel ruins my girly aesthetic.”
I unpack my stuff—clothes into the closet she cleared, razor beside her lotion in the bathroom. Mundane moves, but they feel monumental. Like planting a flag.
I emerge from a hot shower, twenty minutes later, and Tara's sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop open and a legal pad covered in her neat handwriting.
"Making lists?" I ask.
"Trying to figure out what Lucien wants. It’sgot to behim, so I might as well be prepared."
She looks up at me, frustration clear in her expression. "I've been going through everything I remember from the last few years. Every conversation, every document, every meeting I was forced to attend."
I pull out the chair next to her and sit down. "Find anything?"
"Maybe." She turns the laptop toward me, showing a complex organizational chart, a family tree with names, dates, and connecting lines.
“This is the Delacroix corporate structure. Everyone who has a stake in the company, every subsidiary, every partnership."
I study the diagram, impressed despite myself. "You drew this from memory?"
"I've been… involved since I was ten. My father called it my birthright even though I have three half-brothers. He made sure I understood every aspect of the business, but he never let me see the big picture."
She points to a cluster of names near the bottom. "These are all Lucien's ventures. Officially, they're separate companies. But look at the funding sources."
I follow her finger and see she’s listed a handful of companies under two bolded, double-lined words, “Shell Companies.” And all of them tracing back to Delacroix Industries.
"Money laundering?"
"Probably. But more than that." She pulls up another document—what looks like a financial report. "Three months ago, there was a major investigation into several companies linked to organized crime in the Northeast. Nothing ever came of it, but look at this list of businesses that were subpoenaed."
She highlights several names. Four of them match companies in Lucien's cluster.
“This isn’t just laundering,” I mutter. “He’s in bed with the mob?”
"And if my dad ever knows about this, Lucien will be cut off and exiled from the family. But if this mob thing is real, it doesn't just destroy him, it will also take down the entire Delacroix empire." She drags her hands through her hair, frustration fraying every line of her body.
"My father spent his whole life building this company. If Lucien's activities come to light..."
"Your perfect memory and ability to piece things together becomes a liability," I finish.
She nods. "Even if I never said anything, even if I never intended to use the information—Lucien can't take that risk. Not with federal investigators sniffing around."
The pieces click into place with terrifying clarity. This isn't about bringing her home or teaching her a lesson. This isn’t about control anymore.
It’s about erasing her.
My blood runs cold. “You think he’s here to kill you.”
Tara nods. Her laugh is bitter. "Funny how perfect memory becomes a death sentence."
"We need to call Chief Alvarez," I say, already reaching for my phone.
"And tell her what? That my cousin’s mob laundry list happens to live in my head? That Ithinka man in a black suit is connected? She needs evidence, Cam. All I’ve got are ghosts and gossip.”
She’s right. But the helpless rage boiling in my chest needs an outlet. I glance at the legal pad, the organizational chart, the scattered printouts.
Not random. Not paranoia.
“All of this goes up on the stalker board. As evidence.” I say, jaw tight.
