Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(90)

He cocked his head, puzzled. “For what?”

“For always being around. You might have been the one hired to handle the estate, but you and I both know you went above and beyond your obligations to me.”

“Keelie.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, I didn’t do anything out of obligation. I gave some time to a scared, alone little girl and I started to care for her.” He reached out and caught her hand. “More than once, I thought about asking if we could take you, the missus and I. But I worried that might present a conflict of interest with the estate and, more than anything, we had to make sure nothing interfered with that. It was your father’s gift to you and we had to protect it. Of course, after that nasty business with your mother and that stepson . . .”

Paul’s mouth went tight.

“I got out,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Whoever they talked to—”

“It wasn’t them.” Paul looked up. “It was me. I talked to your social worker, to a few other people I knew. Told them things I probably shouldn’t have. But I knew you shouldn’t stay there. Your mother . . . now . . . she was not happy.”

Keelie felt her jaw fall open, shock rippling through her. “What . . . you . . . ?”

He inclined his head. “You know why she wanted you.”

“My father’s money,” Keelie said, her voice bitter. “Somebody’s making calls, looking around for me back home. I know it’s her. I know that’s why.”

“So she’s looking for you. We always suspected she might.” Paul looked unconcerned. Then he shrugged, averting his gaze so that he stared out over the street. It was mid-morning and early morning commuters were settled into their offices. None of the lunch rush had started. The traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, was light. “I’m not surprised. The past few years haven’t been kind to the Vissing family. They made some poor investments and Price . . . well. Let’s say he’s got more arrogance than any ten men should have. He’s mismanaged more than a little bit of money.”

“And he wants to embark on a political career. Lovely.”

Paul slid her an amused look. “He’d be far from the first crooked politician, Keelie. But . . . maybe you can throw a wrench into his plans. Maybe he can silence or bribe a bunch of other people, but I don’t think he’ll have as much luck with you.”

Keelie smile grimly. “I’m planning on using more than a wrench. I’ve got a toolbox full of shit to heave his way.”


*

It was hours later when they finished.

It had been grueling, intense, almost invasive, and she had to explain far too many times why she’d been living under a different name for the past nine years. Why she’d left the state, why her money was managed not by her, but by a lawyer.

Not that Paul was just a typical lawyer.

He was a friend, one she trusted implicitly.

Quarterly, he sent money to her and she put it in an account, although more than once, she’d told him just not to send anything. It wasn’t like she needed much. He handled the investments, he handled contributions and bequests, found other areas that he thought might interest her—the latest was a rape crisis center in Lexington. The funding had been pulled in the past few years and the people running it had managed to keep it going through private donations, but they were struggling.

Or they had been. Thanks to an anonymous donation, they were going to be okay.

It was one thing that made her smile when she thought about this place.

Although now, if she let herself hope, she might have another.

The woman Price had attacked, her name was Alice Reyes.

Alice wasn’t there.

They met with her lawyer, spoke only with him. He was a sharp-eyed, slim man by the name Howie Franklin and he had listened with keen interest as Keelie detailed why she was there, what had brought her home . . . and why she’d left. The need to distance herself had been strong. Now, the need to see her stepbrother answer for what he’d done, the need to see him stop preying on women was just as strong.

She’d had to sit through it as Howie blasted her with questions, and her temper had been a frayed, withered thing by the time he was done. He’d left her alone with Paul and she’d all but come out of her skin in the twenty minutes they’d been in that room.

When he came back in, he’d put a cup of coffee in front of her and then, dropping the shark exterior, he’d said bluntly, “If I put you on the stand, can you hold up like you just did?”

Now, looking back, she almost wanted to hope.

To believe.

They thought she’d be enough to rock Price.

He’d warned her—it might not be enough to get him behind bars, but Howie wanted him to pay in any way imaginable. They’d go for a conviction and if that didn’t work, then they’d hit another way. Civil lawsuits, through the media, anything.

“He’s caused this much harm and suffered no consequences because he’s in a position of power. Imagine how much worse it will get if he starts climbing that political ladder. We have to shut him down now,” Howie had told her.

It was nothing less than the truth. That was why she was here. Maybe if she’d thought to check up on him— Stop it. She told herself that as she waited with Paul in the elegant, quiet waiting room of the law offices. Howie was speaking softly on the phone. She wondered who he spoke with—Alice? Somebody else?