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"Well," I say. "Now you know."
The confirmation doesn’t disgust or horrify her. She just numbly shakes her head. "This can't be real."
"I thought the same thing the first time I found out. When we were kids, it never even crossed my mind to ask what my father did. All I knew was that he was always away on business, on the phone. I never questioned the constant stream of people that came to our house, or the parties, or any of it. Right after I turned eighteen, my father told me I was gonna have to man up if I was going to keep the business alive.
He took me on a trip to meet a friend in Zurich. We got to this big old castle and met with an old family friend and his business partner, Alexandre Davos. I didn’t want to go, dreaded it actually. It was all right at first, and then he got weird... asking super unusual questions. He said he wanted to give me a birthday gift, so he took me downstairs to pick one out. And when we got down to the cellar, I was expecting a bottle of whiskey or a cigar... not people."
I rub the space between my brows, trying to ease the ache that seems to live there these days. Remembering my first glimpse into the underworld is like a special sort of torture. It’s the kind of thing I reserve for the days I feel sorry for myself or when I lose out on a bid because I can’t attract any attention if I want to be able to help. I can’t help them all, and it makes me sick. The knowledge haunts me, but I can at least make a big difference in the lives of those I do help. And whenever I start to think otherwise, I force myself to remember the way the air changed, the way the sounds of the house above were swallowed by cries and sobs, bribes and threats. I force myself to think of that picture of Monica that had been taped to my car door for the world to see, and of my mother’s skin splotched with red when I found her body, and the file that had been pushed across the table with all of the pictures of Rhea, entirely oblivious to the fact that she was being stalked.
Claire whimpers, bringing me back to the present. I place a gentle hand over hers, curling my fingers around hers as a reminder that she is safe with me. "Not just women, Claire... men and children, too. That’s when they explained it all to me, every last detail about how they stole people, their money, their lives, and sometimes even their identities. And then they turned around, and they sold all of it to whoever was willing to pay the highest price. When I told them that I didn't want to pick anybody, they offered to let me choose. And when I refused that, they warned me that I had no say in any of it. They threatened to bring my girlfriend into it, my mother, even Rhea."
I sigh, trying not to let the anger grip me. I don't want Claire to see it. She doesn't need anything else to be concerned about right now. "I thought they were bluffing. And then, one day, Davos showed up, and I found him with Monica. He drugged her just to show me he could, took photos of her. She never even knew she was in danger. But the threat was clear the next day when I found those photos left like little breadcrumbs all around my house, my car. It was clear: I submit to their will, or they’d take everyone I cared about. I broke it off with Monica the next day when she almost found one of them in the kitchen cupboard. It wasn’t enough.
“Two days later, my mother was gone, and I knew that they were serious. So, I did what my father asked... I got on the first plane to Costa Rica, and I never looked back. As long as they thought I was working with them, Rhea would be safe. And that's exactly how it should have been. But my father was stealing from Davos, little bits at first and then larger amounts. Davos found out, of course, and my father couldn't afford to pay it back. He came here to see if I had the capital to pay his debts, and that was when he found out I'd been lying the whole time. I wasn't moving their money to offshore accounts; I wasn't draining the assets of the people they took. And when my father figured that out, he told Davos he could have something that didn't belong to him... Rhea."
Claire shakes her head again, looking like she’s on the verge of crumbling. But she sits up straighter and meets my eyes. "If you weren't laundering his money, then what were you doing? You’re just complicit in all of this?"
"I thought for a long time about what I could do to stop it, how I would bring them down. At first, I fantasized about reaching out somewhere—the law, the government. Except you know my father is friends with our governor,” I remind her of a photo she’s surely seen hanging in the estate back in Oregon, “and they didn’t bond over golf. I tried to think of anyone I could trust with this information, but once they brought me into the company and I got a look at their operations, it was clear that there was nobody who could help me destroy them. They'd been at it too long. My father hadn't simply loved my mother; he selected her because her family had everything that he wanted... wealth, power, respect. The roots run deep, and they are twisted. This isn't a small-scale operation, Claire. The men and women who looked the other way—and the clients themselves—are officers in some of the most influential positions you could imagine. Government, military, the United Nations. Even some of the companies that claim to fight for the cause are just a front."
I can tell she wants to cry, but she’s still too exhausted to do so. "You didn't answer my question. If you haven't been laundering his money, what do you do? Where does all of your money come from?"
"I could tell you..." I say slowly. "But if you're up for it, I'd rather show you."
She narrows her eyes, suspicion setting in.
Our time together has been tumultuous, and I still feel guilty for how I treated her, but against all odds, she trusts me enough to slip her hand into mine and follow me through the quiet house, out the front door, and to the guesthouse. As I unlock the door, she glances around like she’s looking for something.
I don't turn the lights on as I lead her through the house and down into the cellar.
As soon as my hand touches the doorknob, a muffled cry carries up the steps. I feel rather than hear her draw a breath, and then I unlock the door. Before I flip the light on, I turn to her.
Claire knows what I’m asking without me having to say it. Whatever it is, she’s already involved, and now she wants answers. She nods, so I let the light illuminate the steps and offer her my shoulder to lean on as we make our way down them.
She takes the stairs slow and steady, handling the exertion well considering she hasn’t been out of bed in a few days.
Claire freezes, her entire body going rigid when she sees Wes tied to a chair in the first room, wide-eyed with a rag tied around his mouth.
Chapter thirty-three
Remy
"It's okay." I promise. "He can't hurt you."
She can clearly see that he’s bound to the chair, and that’s enough for her to gather the courage to walk past him into the next room, letting me shepherd her without sparing him a glance. I hope she isn’t sparing him a thought, either.
The man who sits strapped to the chair has a burlap sack over his head, and when I face her, the confusion is obvious. I place a gentle hand on her shoulder, making her jump a little.
"I need you to understand that I'm going to protect you, no matter what. This man sitting here has no power over you, and he never will again. You are in control here, Claire."
She nods, which is exactly the sign I was looking for. I reach down and rip the sack off his head unceremoniously.
The man winces from the onslaught of light, blinking as he tries to figure out where he is.
I hear her suck in a breath, feel her hand tighten on mine, and then she pauses. Her voice is small when she says my name, and it sounds like she’s forgotten how to breathe. "Remy?"
"Some people are so vile they don't deserve to live with the rest of us. Some people are more monster than man. My father and Alexandre Davos are some of those people. This is another one."
I see the moment the man's confusion disappears and understanding takes hold. Claire sees it too. The man who hurt her so badly she didn't want to live is now chained up in my basement.
