Page 90 of The Dis-Graced
“Who?”
“I’ve had a small team of investigators working the night to shed light on the situation. I’ve received some preliminary reports via email, but they’re delivering a file that will help us gain insight.”
“Insight into what?”
“Whoever set you up.”
I exhale, more than a little relieved that she believes my innocence. “I have no idea who would have access to your intellectual property, but I know Luke would never sell Drake out, and I don’t know how to access it. Thank you for investigating this.”
“Oh, I wasn’t referring to that. I was referring to who set you up and tried to make it look like you were shagging Brigger Steele.”
My brow rises. “You know about that? Already?”
“After Luke and yourself were taken in, Amanda called. I have to admit, I was out of the loop at that point. She was frantic, wondering what was going on. Then she said something about you being set up and made to look like you were sleeping with Brigger Steele, which I thought was preposterous, but I decided to follow up on it.”
“You called Brigger?”
“Not immediately. Drake called soon after and gave me instructions, explaining that there’s been a theft and things have to happen in a certain way so no one would suspect how much he knew about the real culprit. He had Amanda get Luke, and asked me to go with Devon to get you, explaining that it must be Devon who was seen with you.”
“I don’t understand. Who is the real thief?”
“Elliot,” she says with a distasteful sneer. “I admit, my money would have been on the Anders siblings, and I would have been out quite a bit.”
“Serves you right for judging us.”
“Anyway, I put in a call to Brigger shortly after midnight.”
“And?”
A knock sounds on the door.
“Come in,” Irene yelled.
A maid enters the room, giving a black briefcase to Irene. She opens it, flipping through the contents, glimpsing each page.
“Give me a minute,” she mumbles. “Ah-ha!” She takes out a picture, handing it out towards me.
My breathing grows shallow as I walk over to her, knowing that whatever’s in the picture is going to answer a lot of questions.
“Apparently, he has a thing for young redheads.”
My hands tremble as I gaze at the picture, unable to comprehend what I’m seeing. I blink, trying to make sure my vision isn’t distorted, and after three more rapid blinks, I’m left to wonder if this is a cruel joke.
“You’re wrong,” I finally say.
“Actually, I’m right. Brigger had been seeing this young woman for about six months. His wife knew and was just happy not to have to entertain him herself anymore.”
I take a seat, studying the image. “But this makes no sense.”
“Well, younger women often go for older men for their wealth and experience.”
“No, I know exactly how that works. It’s just that-it’s just—”
“You know her.”
“This doesn’t make any sense. The interview was originally supposed to be done by her, but she came down with the flu. I filled in…”
“How convenient.”
