Page 57 of Fake Dark Vows
“And what exactly do you think her story is, mother?”
“Does it matter?”
“Why don’t you ask me if it was consensual?” I clench my free fist, suppressing an image of the buttons pinging from Rose’s shirt. Her pale skin. The fair hair between her legs. The tight wetness as I rammed inside her.
“Do your father and I need to intervene?” She won’t ask the question because then she won’t be able to ignore the answer.
“No. Everything is under control.”
There’s more to come. I know my mother well enough to understand that she won’t be able to leave it there. She’ll want assurances, timescales, a plan of action for her to follow step-by-step so that she can pull me up if I meet any hiccups along the way.
“Brandon. You won’t do anything silly, will you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I want your father to enjoy his retirement. He has earned it.”
The line goes dead.
I keep walking.
My father never officially retired—when he handed over the running of Weiss Petroleum to me, he didn’t say, “You’re on your own now, son. Your mother’s orders.” Despite my mother’s claims that the company’s finances are handled efficiently by Burton Montpelier Chartered Accountants, I know that my father never removed his finger from the button. If a figure doesn’t add up, he’s the first to know about it.
Which is why I set up a separate company to handle the takeover of Ron’s affairs.
But does my mother understand what retirement would do to him? A man like Harry Weiss doesn’t switch from spreadsheets to planting seeds in his backyard overnight. He would crumple and fold like a deflated dinghy.
Another alert. A message from Sam: Call me.
“Tell me you’ve got good news, Sam.”
“I have news.” He omits the word ‘good’.
“Hit me with it.”
I can see the penthouse suite of Weiss Tower. I could keep right on walking, hail a cab, drive until the city is behind me and crash out in a roadside motel, but there’s too much going on inside my head, and no Julia to keep everything in order.
“Carlos Russo.” Sam has something—it isn’t like him to pause for dramatic effect. “Ever heard of America Falls?”
“Nope.”
“Neither had I. Carlos Russo is a bigshot in Idaho these days. Bought up a load of listed buildings, poured money into the community, set himself up as a regular Santa Claus. Everyone loves him.”
“I’m assuming this is going somewhere.”
“That’s on the surface,” Sam continues. “The folks in America Falls are happy because the place looks picture-postcard pretty again, so they turn a blind eye to the shadier dealings going on inside their National Heritage buildings.”
“Such as?”
“Such as, stuff that doesn’t concern us. You spoke, I listened. I found a guy who hacked into their CCTV footage at a large warehouse. Listed building, right on the edge of the falls. One that Russo uses to store cartons of fuck knows what. I’m not interested. But I was interested in the visitors old man Russo received a couple weeks ago.”
“Go on.”
“Ron Valentine.”
I enter Weiss Tower, the air conditioning hitting me at the same time as the name of my father’s closest friend. A shiver runs down my spine.
“Morning, Mr. Weiss.” Sarah’s smile wavers behind the front desk as she takes in my appearance. Fuck. I didn’t think I looked that bad.