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I hold the door open for her as she continues, “You can’t just go around bashing heads in.”
“I’ve never had a problem with it before,” I joke. The space looks more like a spa than an office. The walls are a gorgeous limewash, and the floor is poured and polished terrazzo. Under a geodesic dome skylight, there’s a live grove of tropical trees and giant orchids.
The receptionist sits behind a solid marble desk and welcomes us. “Mr. Mauldin said you could go right in.” He holds out his hand toward Mauldin’s office.
As we walk down the hallway, Stella half-whispers, half-chides, “Even if most of the people here didn’t have their own security who would undoubtedly stop you, what if you accidentally kill someone?” She pauses midway down the hallway and says quietly, “Then we’ll never know.” She chews on her lip and averts her gaze rather than finishing her thought. Her jaw works like she’s holding back tears.
“Look at me,” I say. She begrudgingly breathes in through her nose then returns my gaze. There’s fear looking back at me, and it makes me feel like a hot iron is stabbing my ribs. She’s scared and I don’t have the answers. Yet.
“You did not kill him and I’m going to prove it.” I lightly cup her jaw and brush my thumb over her cheekbone. “Do you trust me?” She blinks misty eyes and nods. “Good.”
The tears that shimmer there are a rusty blade to the gut. Before this morning, I’d seen Stella cry twice in the fourteen years I’ve known her.
Once was during a Gossip Girl marathon when Chuck and Blair broke up. In her defense, she was running a fever and on her period. I don’t really count it. The only other time was when Cash was shot three times during a deal gone bad. One bullet punctured his lung, another narrowly missed his aorta, and the final one nicked his spleen. He went onto the operating table with a ten percent chance of making it through surgery.
I remember her breaking down in the waiting room of our private hospital suite. It was like seeing an angel weep. I didn’t think I’d survive losing my brother, but as I tried to comfort her—the best I could as a scared sixteen-year-old— I knew Cash dying wouldn’t be the worst part. It would be watching everyone else collapse in his absence.
Thank god that fucker is hard to kill.
We continue down the hall, and her hand reaches for the door. I cover hers with mine on the handle and a weighted moment passes between us. She looks up at me through her lashes expectantly.
“For the record, I haven’t accidentally killed anyone since I was seventeen. Have some faith in me, réalta.”
Her face transforms in a flash as she fights back a laugh. “Oh, how I wound you.”
She pushes open the door, head held high and self-assuredness in her stride. Her resilience never ceases to amaze me. Clark sits behind his desk, and she takes a seat directly across from him like it’s her office. You would never guess she was catatonic, drugged, and reeling with trauma mere hours ago.
In all the time she’s spent with our family, she’s never crossed into our darkness. Now, she’s been thrown in headfirst. But if anyone can make it through without losing her light, it’s her.
“I am truly sorry for your loss,” she says kindly, and I take the seat next to her.
“Thank you.” He nods tersely. “Jeffery was a bastard, but he was still my brother. I want to know who did this, but to be perfectly honest with you two, it was only a matter of time before something like this happened.” I hide my surprise at his change in tone from this morning, when he was ready to bust down my door, guns blazing.
“Before we begin working on a solution to our mutual problem—” Stella leans forward. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that any withheld or misrepresented information that pertains to Summerland or its operations will void our offer, and we will be fully within our right to back out of our deal.”
I sit back and watch Mauldin’s face drop. If he was considering mincing words, he’s not anymore. She’s smart to remind him what’s on the line. After he all but said his brother got what he deserved, it’s clear he cares more about his financials than justice.
He nods in unspoken agreement to her terms. “Jeffery was good at two things: spending money and making enemies.”
I take a calculated bluff. “Right, so now you’re ready to tell us about his business with the Jakšics?”
“You know about that?” He leans back in his leather chair and crosses his arm, defenses rising.
“I know enough, but this is your chance to tell us everything.” I don’t know shit. Only suspected, which he just confirmed. “Start from the beginning.”
He takes a deep breath and steeples his fingers. “Jeffery was in deep with some dangerous people—”
“Gambling?” I ask, and he nods. “How much are we talking?”
“He put up two of our hotels as collateral.” His lip curls, his resentment palpable. “That’s why we decided to sell Summerland, so we could pay back what he owed without giving up our Mauldins.” Mauldin Hotel was a luxury chain founded by their father which now has at least a dozen locations. “We’d been considering selling anyway, so this just forced our hand.”
“And the Jakšics?” I push.
“Right. Well, before he got in over his head, he was able to somewhat keep up with his habit by blackmailing guests. I’m sure you’ve figured out that this place, especially Libidine, can bring out the sinner in everyone. Guests know that for their privacy, we don’t have any surveillance cameras. Some get caught up in the veil of anonymity, do things that, in the light of day, they want to keep in the dark.”
Stella’s eyes dart toward me as he says this. Then a realization flashes in her eyes and she turns to Mauldin. “The club didn’t have cameras, but Jeffery did.”
“Exactly. He had compromising photos and videos of dozens of guests—”
