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“Buying information?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“And Margo agreed to assist?”
“She’s thinking on it. I asked her to come to the office at eight. She’ll be there.”
“We have to tell the CFO about this meeting,” Ava said. “Mr. Monroe is familiar with their industry, understands their business, would benefit from inside secrets.”
“Except,” Jack said, slightly uncomfortable, “I don’t see why he would be involved with corporate espionage at a company he probably knows more about than anyone else.”
“Did you confirm Margo’s information?”
“I have no reason to doubt her.”
“Margo bends the rules. She’s probably correct, but we need to verify. And just because he used to own the company doesn’t mean that he isn’t still involved.” She thought a moment. “Though, it seems unlikely.”
“I want Margo back,” he said.
His mom looked sad, defeated. “She never worked for us, Jack.”
“And you know why.”
At the beginning, the idea for Angelhart Investigations had come from Jack and Margo, and they convinced Ava. It didn’t take much—Ava had been burnt out as a lawyer, and private investigation was a natural career shift. Plus, since she was still a licensed attorney, she could take legal cases when she wanted.
Margo had the vision. She’d built her own small successful one-woman practice, but having a staff to handle research and background checks would free her up to be in the field more, to pass off the detail work to Tess who thrived on research. They planned to open the doors as equal partners—the four of them—Ava, Jack, Tess, and Margo.
But Margo assumed their first case would be investigating the death of Dr. Devin Klein, who their father had confessed to murdering. Ava said no.
Your father sacrificed himself for this family, and while I hate with all my heart and soul that he’s in prison, his life—all of our lives—would have been at risk if he went to trial. At your father’s request, we are not touching anything surrounding Klein’s murder.
At the beginning, Jack had agreed with Margo—and he had been just as frustrated that their mother refused to explain the risk to the family. They would have taken any risk to clear their father’s name and bring him home.
Ava wouldn’t budge and that’s when Jack realized that there was something more at stake. Though neither of his parents explained, they wouldn’t have asked them to stand down if it weren’t important. Jack didn’t like it, but he could live with it. He’d always been a dutiful son.
Margo felt betrayed, that it was her against everyone. She refused to join Angelhart Investigations and their mother let her walk.
Though Ava had never said, Jack suspected his mother thought Margo would return in a few months. When she didn’t, Ava continued to dig in her heels and Margo grew more distant from the family. Over time, Jack realized that they had taken business from Margo. Because of Ava’s reputation, some of the lawyers who had once hired Margo, now hired them. Not because Margo wasn’t capable, but because with Angelhart Investigations they had a team of licensed private investigators, a dedicated research staff, access to experts and legal consultants.
“I would love for Margo to join our business. She is a smart, shrewd investigator,” Ava said. “But she would never agree to all of my terms.”
“Which are?”
“I’m sure she’ll avoid the unpleasant, scandalous cases—she detests adultery investigations as much as I do. And I could probably overlook her rule bending. But she’ll never stop looking into Klein’s death. She lied to me, Jack. Three weeks ago she told me to my face that she hadn’t interviewed Klein’s former intern. She’s putting a target on her back, and it terrifies me that she’s going to get hurt.”
“Maybe Margo will surprise you.”
Ava drained her wine. “I know your sister, Jack. Better than she thinks I do. It pains me every day that Cooper is in prison. But it would kill me if I have to bury my daughter.”
Thirteen
Margo Angelhart
I didn’t want to meet with Brittney tonight, but the woman gave me no choice, claiming she couldn’t talk on the phone. So at nine Sunday night, I drove to Beverly’s in Scottsdale. From the outside, the bar looked like any other popular hangout in old town Scottsdale. Patio seating—which would have been fine tonight because temperatures dropped after the sun went down and it was a comfortable seventy-five degrees. A yellow vault door led inside where upbeat jazzy rock played under the hum of multiple conversations.
It would be a great place to hang out with friends, if I were in a social mood—worn brick walls filled with books and heavy decorative knickknacks. A dark speakeasy vibe. Classy table lighting and deep red, curving leather seats arranged along the dark walls for private conversations, but plenty of high-top tables were scattered around to stand at or sit on stools. Lots of nooks and crannies to people watch or have a semi-quiet conversation. They even had a basement, though you needed reservations most of the time to get a table down there. Yeah, I would have loved it except for two things: the price of the drinks (nowhere in my world would I pay eighteen bucks for a drink; call me cheap,) and it was known as a place to be seen.
Why Brittney wanted to be seen in public with her hired PI made no sense to me. But I’d taken her retainer, and liking my client wasn’t a requirement for presenting a report. If Brittney wanted the report verbally and in public, that was her call.
