Part 6:
Tomorrow, I’d see the truth of his empire. Tomorrow, I’d understand exactly what I was bargaining with. Tonight, I let myself enjoy the fiction we’d created, the fairy tale where the librarian captured the criminals attention and wasn’t sure she wanted to let go. James’ office occupied the entire top floor of Thornton Industries, a legitimate investment firm that apparently managed portfolios worth billions.
The space was all glass and steel, minimalist elegance that somehow felt warm despite its sharp edges. William escorted me up at 7 p.m. exactly as instructed. The sun was setting over the city, painting everything in shades of amber and shadow. He’s waiting in the conference room, William said, his expression carefully neutral.
Miss Mitchell, whatever he shows you tonight, remember that Mr. Thornton doesn’t share this information lightly. It means he trusts you. Or he’s testing me. Perhaps both. William’s voice softened slightly. For what it’s worth, I think you’re good for him. He’s been different since the auction. More human. The conference room held a single table, two chairs, and a wall of monitors.
James stood by the windows, his back to me, hands in his pockets. He’d removed his suit jacket, wearing just the white dress shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows. Even in silhouette, he commanded the space. “Close the door,” he said without turning. “I did, my heart hammering. This was the moment of truth.
Literally, he turned finally, his expression unreadable. Last chance, grace. Walk away now and I’ll honor all the terms we discussed. Codeex, legal support, security, no judgment, no consequences. Stop offering me exits, I said, moving to stand across from him. I made my choice. Show me. Something flickered in his eyes.
Relief maybe, or resignation. He touched a control panel and the monitors lit up with documents, financial records, organizational charts that looked like something from a crime thriller. “Thorn Industries is legitimate,” he began. “We manage investment portfolios, provide venture capital, consult on mergers and acquisitions, everything by the book, fully licensed, completely legal.
” He pulled up another screen that represents about 40% of my income. The rest comes from operations that exist in gray areas or darker. He walked me through it systematically. Import export businesses that occasionally moved restricted goods. Real estate holdings that laundered money from less savory sources.
Protection services for businesses that couldn’t go to the police. Information brokering that skirted privacy laws. I don’t deal drugs, he said flatly. I don’t traffic humans. I don’t hurt innocents. Those are my three absolutes. Cross any of those lines and you’re out of my organization permanently. His gaze held mine.
But I’m not a good man. Grace, I’ve destroyed businesses that threatened mine. I’ve made people disappear, not killed, but relocated with strong incentives never to return. I’ve manipulated markets, bribed officials, and used violence when necessary to protect what’s mine. Why are you telling me this? My voice came out steadier than I felt.
Because you asked for truth and because if you’re going to observe Sullivan for me, you need to understand the world you’re navigating. He pulled up a new file. Surveillance photos of Patrick Sullivan meeting with dangerous looking men in expensive suits. These are the Volkov brothers, Eastern European arms dealers with connections to every major conflict zone in the world.
Sullivan’s been courting them for 3 months. I studied the images, my mind cataloging details automatically. He’s planning to expand into weapons trafficking. That’s my assessment. Which violates the territorial agreements we established 5 years ago. If Sullivan brings that kind of operation into this city, it attracts federal attention we can’t afford.
It endangers every business, legitimate and otherwise, that operates here. So, you want to stop him? I want to know his timeline, his supply chains, his buyers. I want leverage to force him back into compliance or remove him from the equation entirely. James turned to face me fully. That’s where you come in.
Sullivan will be at the Westmore Gallery opening this Friday. His mistress, not the woman you saw at the gala. He cycles through them. Fancies herself an art collector. You’ll attend. Strike up a conversation. Befriend her if possible. She talks when she drinks and she drinks at every event. You want me to manipulate a lonely woman into giving up her boyfriend’s secrets? I want you to make a friend and listen carefully.
His expression softens slightly. I’m not asking you to seduce information out of her. Just be yourself. Intelligent, observant, genuinely interested in art. The rest will follow naturally. I moved to the window, looking out at the city sprawling below us. Somewhere down there, my grandmother sat in her care facility, unable to speak, but trusting me to fight for our family’s legacy.
Somewhere, my cousins were probably celebrating what they thought was their inevitable victory. And somewhere, Patrick Sullivan was building an empire that would hurt people. If I do this, I said slowly, if I help you stop Sullivan’s weapons operation, I’m choosing sides. I’m choosing your version of criminal enterprise over his.
