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“In less than fifteen minutes, one of the chaps on my team confirmed that thesecret societyisn’t all that very secret. Although the lot of them aren’t shouting their good deeds on the roof of The Shard,” I mention the tallest building in London, “each associate is a prominent member in society—lawyers taking on pro bono cases, philanthropists. Absurdly rich fuckers who give their money away.”
“Oh, no, maybe the affluent arseholes are being swindled.” We both have a laugh. “Victor, are we at square one? So far, I’ve more questions. I wasn’t part of the diary fiasco. Still, I’d like to know, did Everhart rape her mother? Were they having an affair? Did Whitson kill her?”
“I presume you were listening in?”
“Every last word. In the hallway. I waved Alba over as well, and Graham joined out of duty. For my insubordination, am I being given my marching papers?”
“Never.” I knead the back of my neck. “The day after I read Gina Whitson’s diary, Paul searched for the crime. It was over a decade ago. There was evidence Gina provided after the rape. Paul cracked into the international DNA database. Unfortunately, the genetic makeup of Gina’s assailant that night was 2 percent African American.”
“Everhart?”
“Half black. Whitson’s cleared as well.”
“Well, there’sthat.”
“You called this a fiasco.” I pick up the diary, handing it to Burt with care. “This journal is the only lead we have. Luxury was able to recall a few memories while reading it. I’m not certain they are dependable. Monica spoke with a chap about false memories, which may be what Luxury is exhibiting.”
“Poor thing.” His shoulders sag.
“Commission the best. Fingerprints, if possible. Have Monica or Paul locate any legal documents that Gina Whitson signed. Send it for comparison. I want the chronological age of the bloody paper. Anything that will identify whom it belongs to.”
Now, there are two men, bothclaimingthey’ve a broken heart.
They say dead people tell no lies.
Nevertheless, unlike the rape that occurred years ago, the evidence on Gina’s body the night she was murdered held no traces of anyone.
Later that evening, Lux rests in bed with her iPad. How she handled Dr. Jonah Whitson met my expectations. For a young woman who has lived under her father’s thumb for almost twenty-four years, her entire life, Luxury is slowly coming into her own.
“In the morning, we will work out your frustrations,” I tell her, holding in my excitement of commencing the physical phase of her training.
She shakes her head, placing the tablet on the bedside table. “Vic, although you rarely leave room for debate, it's time for me to do something with my life.”
Bollocks, should I have kissed her first?Some sort of sentiment to lighten the mood of the evening. Am I slipping into my old routine? Business before pleasure? Too bloody resolute to realize my Little One has feelings. “Alright, what is it that you'd like to do?”
“I know where Uncle Red is—”
“Where?”
“I won’t tell you. And you won’t convince me that Uncle Red’s the bad guy. As far as I’m concerned, Uncle Red has always been the constant in my life. After the fire and he stopped seeing my momma, he treated me no different.”
“Lux, where?”
“I love you, but I can’t.” Her gander drops. “He wouldn’t hurt my momma. Reading her diary was a bittersweet memory of all the reasons she loved him, and I do too.”
So, then your father.Astonishment slams into me. I settle on the chaise near the balcony doors. I’ll not ask her questions or try to weasel it out of her. “Alright, Little One.”
“I'm returning to New York. I feel like I understand Momma better. That I’m a lot like her. I think Momma’s regret after marrying my father is that she never made something of herself. After having me, she was just stuck. No education. Only a diner job as the highlight on her résumé. Damn, I think if she hadn't felt so guilty about always having feelings for Uncle Red or allowing Jonah’s threats of divorce to get to her, Momma would have left.”
Though I endeavor to listen thoughtfully, Luxury’s desire to leave consumes my thoughts. “What about college here? The University of Arlington.”
“What are the admissions requirements? How much is tuition?”
I growl in frustration. “Do not insult me.”
“Victor, no.” She sighs, fluffing her hair. “No special treatment.”
“Elaborate.”
