Page 34 of Keller

Ridge doesn't need this. He's already carrying enough weight running the business and keeping everything on track. And there's nothing here that changes the outcome. She's gone. My father's gone. Whatever happened between them is buried with both of them.

Cain studies my face.

"Hey, let's take a rain check on that beer. I just remembered I'm supposed to meet West." I pick up the box and tuck it under my arm.

"Okay. I need to head to the gym, anyway. Ridge has me working ten and twelve-hour days. I need to burn off some of these beignets."

I stop near the door, but don't turn around. "You’d better get in there and get your reps in. You don't want to lose that NYC body you worked so hard for."

"Fuck you, dickhead."

"I'll pass," I retort. We've always had a relationship where we can give each other a hard time without taking it personally.

"Keller, you good? You seem quiet all of a sudden."

"Oh, yeah, I'm good. Just thinking about work."

The words come out flatly, and I know he can read right through me, even if he doesn't know what is weighing on me. I just hope he doesn't connect it with the box. More than anything, I want to downplay that.

I climb the stairs without looking back. The motion lights trail behind me as I reach the top and push through the false panel. The house above is colder now, somehow. Mom didn't live long enough to see the renovation she envisioned.

I walk to the car and set the box on the passenger seat. The engine turns over smoothly as I pull out of the driveway and head back toward the city.

The photographs sit next to me, daring me to explore further. I don't look at them again, but my mind starts racing with a plan to get to the bottom of them.

Traffic crawls through the Quarter, strings of taillights bleeding red across wet pavement. I keep one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. I press and release the O/D button on the side, a nervous habit.

By the time I pull into the garage beneath my building, my jaw aches. I've been clenching it without realizing. I cut the engine and sit for a moment in the quiet.

I grab the box and head inside.

The elevator ride up is silent. When the doors open, I step into the loft and set my keys on the counter. The city spreads beyond the windows, lights flickering to life as dusk settles into night.

I place the box next to my keys and stare at it for a beat.

I move the box to the counter and leave it there. Ridge is already carrying enough and has been since October running the business.

Cain would worry at it until it became something bigger than it is. Wells would start digging and never stop.

This doesn’t need an audience.

I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find the number I need. Marcus Devlin. I've used him before for background checks on players who show up with too much cash and not enough history when Wells wasn't immediately available. He's thorough, discreet, and expensive enough that he doesn't need to take shortcuts.

Two rings, and he picks up.

"Keller Stone. How the hell are you? It's been a minute."

"I'm hanging in there. Listen, I need something done."

"All right. Talk to me."

I open the box and lift out the hotel receipt. The date stares back at me.

"Hotel Asbury, seventeen years ago. Any chance we can find a guest list from a specific date?"

"Might be a stretch, but that's not too far back that records couldn't possibly have been scanned into a database. I won't know until I start digging."

I give him the date and tell him I want to find a specific man, whose name I don't know. I recite the physical details, including the signet ring and the scar.