But tonight, I’ll show him. Showthem.
I open the top drawer of the desk and begin rummaging through the contents.
Nothing but dried-out pens, a few mismatched cufflinks, and business cards for various clubs.
The one below yields much of the same, but I refuse to get discouraged.
Months ago, before my father died, I overheard him on the phone, bragging about having dirt on Sean O’Keefe, which he planned on using to blackmail him into falling in line and helping him take down the Sullivans.
If I have any hope of getting out of this marriage, that dirt is my key. The only problem is… I have no idea where my father kept it.
“Where are you?” I crouch down to open up the bottom drawer, but of course, I find it locked. “Dammit,” I curse.
My pulse quickens as I glance over at the door, my ears straining to catch any sign that my brother has decided to leave his lair. When I’m sure that he’s not coming, I try the drawer again, but it’s definitely locked. I shouldn’t be surprised. My father never trusted anyone, not even his own blood. But onething my father did love was control, which means he would have liked to keep the key close to him.
“Think, Riley…” I whisper.
I crawl beneath the desk and run my hand along the underside, my fingers searching through the layer of dust until I feel a tiny groove in the wood. I press against it and almost sag with relief when it gives way, revealing a tiny hidden compartment.
And a key.
“Paranoid, but predictable,” I mutter as I pull out the tiny brass key and slide it into the lock of the lowest drawer.
As expected, it clicks open, and I eagerly pull out the drawer and instantly groan at the mess of paperwork inside.
There’s a reason my father kept this drawer locked, and I have a feeling this is where the key to my freedom lies. I rifle through the drawer, pulling out folder after folder of stills from surveillance footage and photocopies of dirty transactions until I find what I’m looking for.
“Bingo,” I whisper as I catch sight of the red tab labeled ‘O’Keefe.
My fingers tremble as I pull it free.
The only people in the world who know this document exists are Sean, my father, and now me, which makes it valuable. I just have to hope that it’s valuable enough to get me the help I need, otherwise I will be royally screwed.
A noise outside the office makes me freeze.
I clutch the document to my chest and quickly flick off the desk lamp before hurrying over to the door. Pressing my back against the wall beside it, I hold my breath as I listen for signs of life, but there’s nothing.
It’s time to get the hell out of here.
I slip back out of the office and shut the door softly behind me.
Every step back to my room feels like walking on a tightrope, and when I finally close the bedroom door, I sink to the floor as my chest heaves.
I did it. But I’m nowhere close to being free.
This evidence might be the key, but it won’t unlock my freedom unless I put it in the right hands.
Now this is the tricky part. Because it just so happens that those right hands happen to belong to the person who murdered my father in cold blood.
Ronan Sullivan.
He’s the last person my uncle would expect me to run to, which is what makes him so perfect.
Ronan is dangerous, and if the rumors are true, he’s far more capable of protecting me than anyone in my bloodline.
I don’t trust people easily, but I trust motive, and Ronan hates Sean O’Keefe just as much as I do. If I hand him this evidence, he’ll have a reason to want to listen to me.
I climb to my feet and grab my hoodie off the end of my bed, pulling it on.