“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” I said, shutting and locking the door behind us.
“Your case is my priority,” he answered as he surveyed the foyer with fierce judgment.
“Perfect. Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Kiyah Baker,” I said as she strolled into the foyer with her sunglasses perched on her head.
“It’s lovely meeting you, Mr. Preston,” she acknowledged warmly, wrapping an arm around my waist. I kissed her temple.
“I wish I could say the same, but the fact that I’m here means we have a big problem on our hands.”
Kiyah’s smile instantly vanished, and reality came crashing in like an 18-wheeler against a brick wall. This wasn’t fucking social hour. There was a man with unimaginable wealth and political influence after the only woman I loved.
* * *
“Please tell us about your background, Mr. Preston.”
“I spent seven years in the Navy SEALS. I saw a lot and learned a lot about keeping myself and others alive in hostile situations. When I retired, I wanted to put the skills I mastered to work in a way that lets me protect people before things get ugly, not after,” he said, glancing at Kiyah. “I’ve been in private security ever since.”
“Did you receive any commendations while serving?” I questioned. Military commendations weren’t a requirement, but Mr. Preston piqued my curiosity.
“Navy and Marine Corps Commendation Medal, Joint Service Achievement Medal, and Combat Action Ribbon,” he answered bluntly. I nodded and proceeded to the next question.
“How long have you been in operation, and who are your typical clients?”
“Preston Personal Security has been operational for over 23 years. Our roster has included corporate executives, high-net-worth families, politicians, pop stars, rappers, large-scale sporting events, you name it.”
“Wow. That’s impressive,” Kiyah said, scratching a note on her legal pad.
“Thank you, Mrs. Baker.”
“Mr. Preston, you mentioned protecting political figures, but do you have experience protecting clients from high-profile political figures or individuals with significant influence?”
“Unfortunately,” he replied gravely. “We had some cases involving high-ranking politicians and billionaires who felt the law didn’t apply to them. Political threats are a beast of their own—you’re up against an entire system that was designed only to benefit a few.”
Kiyah cocked a brow.
“Anti-government?”
Mr. Preston smiled genuinely.
“I’m not an anarchist if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You’re not an anarchist, but you don’t trust the government,” she commented.
Mr. Preston sighed and patted his thighs—the first sign that he was uncomfortable and wasn’t in complete control.
“Like most SEALs, I live with PTSD. It has been manageable with psychotherapy, and I have an amazing support system, including my wife.”
“I’m sorry to be intrusive, and you don’t have to feel obligated to answer, but do you take medication to manage your symptoms?” I questioned.
“That’s none of your business, Grant,” Kiyah hissed. Mr. Preston laughed.
“It’s fine. To answer your question, I am not taking pharmaceuticals. I’ve managed fine with the holistic approach.”
“Wonderful. Can you provide verifiable references from clients who required long-term services?”
“Absolutely, but for privacy reasons, we’ll only connect you after the clients agree. We also have many written testimonials from individuals who’ve gone public about their experiences.”
“I read your company’s reviews. Your clients seem pleased with your services,” Kiyah praised. “Have any of your clients expressed dissatisfaction with your services?”