Oran’s face darkens. It’s like watching clear water grow cloudy—his real emotions muddying his smooth facade.
“That’s a very serious accusation, Riona,” he says. “Especially from my own niece. What evidence do you have?”
That’s what he really wants to find out. That’s the point of this game—to discover what I know.
“It never made sense that Josh hired the Djinn,” I say. “He only found out that I was working on the purchase agreements that afternoon. But you knew long before—with more than enough time to put out a hit. And you knew better than Josh what time I swim laps every night. You even saw how late I was working that particular evening. You told me I should go home . . . but I stayed. Did you have to wait down on the street, watching for my light to go out? I’m sure that was annoying.”
My uncle’s eyelid twitches, and I’m sure I guessed right. He really must have stood down there on the cold street, cursing my attention span.
“You took the purchase agreements off my desk. You put them in Josh’s office. But I went in and grabbed them again. And I took them home with me.
“Of course, that wouldn’t have mattered if I’d drowned. That’s why it had to look like an accident—so no one would come looking for the killer, or even wonder why I’d been killed.
“I’m assuming the Djinn took my phone so you could check my emails and calls. See if I’d tipped anyone off about the properties. You thought I already knew . . . but that’s the irony, Uncle Oran. I had no fucking idea. I hadn’t figured it out. You thought I kept taking those purchase agreements because I was already on to you . . . but that wasn’t it at all. I just wanted to impress you! I just wanted the partnership.”
His lips tighten in irritation. He’s not answering me, but I already know that everything I’m saying is true. As much as it contradicts everything I thought I knew about my relationship with my uncle, it’s the only explanation that makes sense. This man who was my friend and mentor, this man that I thought loved me like a daughter . . . he’s the one who tried to kill me. To save his own skin.
“You still needed those files gone, so you had the Djinn incinerate my apartment. You hoped that would get rid of me, too. Unfortunately for you, I had digital copies on my computer. Lucy sent them to me. I’m guessing you figured that out later, because they’re gone now. All deleted.
“You knew there was another layer of protection, though—you had Josh sign all the documents. That’s why you were always passing all that work to him. Because you knew he wouldn’t notice the discrepancies. He’s a decent lawyer, but he’s a much better ass-kisser. He wouldn’t question anything you told him to do.
“He was the perfect patsy. Everybody saw that he and I were enemies. We were rivals for the job, and we hated each other’s guts. It seemed believable that he would hire someone to kill me.
“But you knew if Dante and Cal got their hands on him, Josh would sing like a bird. Did he know about the embezzlement? Was he in on it?”
Uncle Oran’s impassive face gives away nothing. Only the glitter of his dark eyes shows that he’s still listening intently.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “You had to get rid of him. So you sent him home early, before Dante and Cal could show up here. Told them he’d been off sick all day. Then you drove out to the airport with him and forced the gun up under his chin. Or did you hire someone for that messy little job? I can’t imagine you getting blood and brain matter all over one of your suits.”
Oran’s lips twitch with distaste, which makes me certain he did it himself. He’s older than Josh, but he’s taller, and he had surprise on his side. Josh didn’t expect to be betrayed by Oran any more than I did.
“No,” I say. “You did it. You couldn’t risk some so-called hitman fucking up the job again. Once Josh was out of the way . . . I assume you wired some of the money into his accounts to make him look guilty. Not enough to put a serious dent in what you stole, but enough that we’d know Josh hadn’t saved it from his salary.
“And I suppose you thought the Djinn would get rid of your last loose end in Tennessee. It would look like Josh never got a chance to call off the hit. All the evidence would be gone. I’d be gone. Josh would take the fall. And you’d . . . what exactly? What in the fuck did you even want that money for?”
This is the one part where Oran can’t keep silent. His eyes are narrowed to slits and his yellowed teeth are bared as he hisses, “I wanted it because it’s mine. It was owed to me.”
“How do you figure that?” I demand. I know Uncle Oran gets a 50% share of the profits of the law firm, which is a hefty amount of money. Double what the other partners get. “You get paid plenty for running this place.”
“I shouldn’t be paid at all!” he cries. “A share in the law firm . . . I should get half of the empire! Or more! I’m the eldest son, not Fergus.”
“You’re the bastard son,” I say, coldly. I never cared about that, but I’m bitterly angry at Oran and I want to hurt him if I can, like he hurt me. “This empire is ten times the size it was under grandfather, because of my dad. He’s the one that built it up to where it is today. You didn’t do that. You couldn’t.”
“You have no idea what I can do, girl,” Oran hisses.
Maybe he’s right. Because faster than I can blink, there’s a gun pointed at my face.
I scoff. “You’re going to shoot me? Right here in the office? You don’t have anybody else to blame it on this time. You kill me, and my father will hunt you down like a dog, and cut the flesh off your bones an ounce at a time.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” Oran sneers. “You’re going to kill yourself.”
He reaches into his desk and pulls out a bottle of pills. My stomach squirms as I read the label. It says, “Riona Griffin”. He got a prescription in my name.
“You’re not going to get away with the same trick twice,” I tell him.
“I don’t know about that . . . ” Oran says. “I don’t think anybody believes you’re happy, Riona. Not really. What do you have in your life besides work? Nothing.”
When he asks that question, for one wild moment my brain responds, Raylan. Until I remember that I don’t have him anymore. I only had him for a brief moment. Then I shoved him away.
Oran pops the lid off the pill bottle and shoves it toward me. He brandishes the gun in my face. The muzzle looks as dark and empty as Uncle Oran’s eyes.
I don’t know what the pills are, but it doesn’t matter. I can puke them up after. For now, I have to pretend to cooperate. Or else he’ll just shoot me.
Oran is hanging by a thread. I seriously underestimated my Uncle’s desperation.
I came in here to confront him, thinking he was still the man I knew. I thought I could reason with him. At the very least, I thought he would recognize that it was over, he lost.
I didn’t realize how much hatred was simmering below his skin. Hatred against my father . . . and against me. He never loved me. He never respected me. He used me when it was convenient. And when I got in his way, he tried to drown me like a rat.