Page 29 of Keller

I tell myself to stop jumping to fantastical conclusions just because I see the name of the man I can't stop thinking about. God, I'm pathetic.

I click back to the parent directory. There's an archived press release from eighteen months ago. It's a ribbon-cutting for a new distribution facility in Algiers. I open it without thinking.

The photo loads.

Five men in suits stand in front of a massive warehouse. I recognize Ridge Stone in the center is tall and controlled. His full beard is very distinguishable. Robert Stone stands beside him with the other men filling in on either side.

And there, second from the left, is a lanky man with dirty blonde hair, a square jaw, and thick black glasses.

No.

My stomach drops. The room tilts. I grip the edge of my desk and force myself to breathe through my nose.

Fuck.

It's him. It's definitely him. Same face. Same glasses. Same everything.

Keller Stone. Director of Strategic Partnerships for Stone Intermodal.

The man I've been tasked with investigating is the father of the man I just slept with. The family I'm supposed to be mapping, dissecting, and building a case against includes the one man I absolutely can't have anything personal to do with.

This isn't happening. It can't be. This could ruin this investigation. And that's best case scenario. I can't even think about what it could do to my career.

But it is happening. The evidence is right there on my screen. Clear and undeniable.

I close the file, and my hands shake. I press them flat against the desk and stare at the empty space in front of me.

I didn't know. We met before I even officially started this case, and even after I did, I had no idea he was related to Robert Stone, or that he's employed by the logistics company I'm supposed to be quietly looking into.

That's true. I didn't. He never told me his last name. I never asked.

I open the file again and force myself to look at the photo. I stare at Keller standing beside his brothers. At the warehouse behind them.

My phone is in my desk drawer. I haven't checked it since this morning. I think I'm going to be sick.

I close the folder and throw it into the corner of my desk. I need it as far away from me as possible.

My fingers move on instinct, racing across the keyboard, pulling up the charity event archives.

The Stone family donates to the Children's Hospital.

The Stone family sponsors a youth literacy program.

Robert Stone at the opera gala.

There.

A formal shot from three months ago. Another formal event connected to the Krewe of Argentum. Black tie. Smiling faces arranged in perfect rows.

How the fuck did I not put all of this together?

Why did he lie to me about what he does? Did he know who I was all along?

The questions keep stacking up as I scroll through the article.

The Stone brothers stand in the second row, five of them in this photo.

Ridge in the center again, with Keller immediately to his left, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of champagne. He's looking slightly away from the camera, caught mid-conversation with someone out of frame.