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And I have no idea how the hell that possibly connects with the Carvers. But Pruitt needed leverage for something, and I have no doubt it concerns his brother, Easton. With Balzano involved, maybe it all simply comes back to an attack on KORT, and Frank is only one target. Although no other threats have been reported by the other KORT chairs.
We spend a couple more hours with the Noires, enjoying more carefree socializing with the rest of the group. Once they leave, Wells and I both charge for his office. He’s drawn many of the same conclusions I have, so we decide to check in with Frank.
After he answers and we bumble through ten seconds of greeting, Wells jumps in without announcing my presence. He’s instructed me to keep my mouth shut, so I slouch on the couch with my Zippo flickering and give him the floor.
“Was your son, Ben, ever mixed up with KORT business or deals gone wrong with The Order?”
Frank’s heavy exhale rattles the line. “You think this has something to do with Ben? It’s been almost eight years.”
When Wells hears the pain in Frank’s voice, his face falls. “We’re just exhausting all avenues, Frank.”
“You’ve got nothing else relevant?”
That’s fucking accusatory and rude, considering Wells and I are essentially doing this as a favor. Although I’m invested as much as him at this point. And we did start the conversation off with the mention of his dead son, so maybe his attitude isn’t such a big deal. Still pisses me off.
Wells shuffles his candy bag, mining for his reds and yellows. “We’ve got a bunch of loose leads right now. Par for the course in these matters. We’ll get them to fuse into a clear picture. We always do.”
“Fine,” Frank grits out. “I’m glad you called. I’d like to know who’s saying shit to my daughter.”
Wells’s head snaps up, surly green eyes narrowed at me as I push to my feet. He lifts his hand in warning to me. “Could you be more specific? We enjoy having Celeste here. She’s doing well.”
“Too well,” he snipes, and my heart whomps my sternum and rib cage. “She’s got my wife all upset.”
Why the hell would Celeste’s mom, Ava, be upset?
Frank groans, distress and anger roaring through the speaker loud and clear. “Since you brought it up, we had no reason to believe that Ben’s accident was anything other than just that,except that blaming someone when you lose a child makes the whole senseless nightmare a bit more palatable. It assigns a place to direct the inconceivable torment.”
Wells drags his hand down his haggard face. I can only imagine how overwhelming that thought is, having just brought Felicity home. I didn’t create her, and I can’t even fathom her hurting, let alone … nope.
“My wife always thought it was one of my enemies,” Frank says, tone laced with guilt now, his tenor strained in the next sentence. “That Ben died because of me. Ava is a mess now, thinking Celeste is getting mixed up with you guys. And I’m the one who fucking allowed her to come there.”
Oh hell. Celeste comes by her power of yielding words like a knife honestly. That fucking stings. Her family means everything to her, so her parents viewing us as dangerous is lethal.
“We’ve doubled down on her security, Frank.” Wells’s eyebrows are scrunched together in confusion. He glances at me in question, and when I shrug, he probes Frank more. “I must be missing something. I assure you, she’s safe, and she’s thriving.”
“I told you to fucking encourage her to go on those dates,” he snipes.
Wells bristles at Frank’s animosity. You don’t disrespect the Chief. His green eyes squint with a chill. “And we have.”
“Then, why is she begging my wife to talk to me about getting involved with my business? A matter we had resolved. And that’s just the half of it.” He huffs. “She’s asking if we’d be angry if she chose a different path. Someone who isn’t in politics.”
Oh, baby girl. I knew you wanted me, Ace.
Wells glares at me, jaw rigid. “Maybe it’s simply nerves. She went on her date with Dustin Barclay, but she told Ivy they didn’t click.”
Frank howls a cynical laugh. “My father said his message was over the top, which makes me think she blew it on purpose. At least he recognized she was out of his league. Pussy.”
Sounds like Frank doesn’t think much of these political douchebags either, so what’s the problem?
“Your daughter is an amazing young woman,” Wells says, far more relaxed now that we can all agree Barclay was a pussy. “She probably intimidated the guy.”
“Scott Filmore won’t be intimidated. She’s going out with him next week. My father insists he’s the real deal, cream of the crop. It’s his dream to see Celeste in the White House. Ava’s too. Apparently, Filmore’s the guy to take her there, so ensure she goes enthusiastically.”
Motherfucker.
My fists clench. Molars grind. We’ll both be in attendance. Enthusiastically.
“Will do.” Wells shakes his head at me. He’s going to ream my ass after this, but his delivery is as level as ever. “You should know, Frank, I extended an indefinite invitation to Celeste. We’d like her to stay until she finds her way, but again, her safety is our priority.”
