He’s trying to shield me from the dumpster fire I’m already neck-deep in because he thinks I’m just collateral. He has no idea I’m one of the people holding the matches.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” His voice sharpens, heavier now. “If you stay, he won’t give you a warning. He’ll just... make the problem disappear.”
“I can’t leave.”
“Cybil, this isn’t pride.” Urgency is etched into the lines of his face. “I will pay whatever you ask if you’ll take it and disappear. This is your life I’m talking about.”
“What about you and Sebastian?”
He exhales slowly, like he’s been carrying the answer for too long. “There are things I did in the early years when I was building my company. Things I’m not proud of.” He looks out toward the lake again, voice rough with memory. “Cut corners. Looked the other way. Told myself it was survival, not ambition. And I justified it because I wanted a future for my son. Something better than what I had.”
A pause. His gaze lowers.
“But you don’t build something clean by burying the dirty parts deeper. I’ve tried to be different these last few years. Tried to make it right—cut ties, change the culture, protect what matters. But Ramirez...” His jaw clenches. “He doesn’t let go. And now Sebastian is in the middle of it, and so are you.”
I swallow hard. The guilt from earlier creeps in again, curling under my ribs like a wire pulled too tight. He doesn’t know the whole truth. Doesn’t know I’m here because I made myself part of this mess.
“I can’t leave,” I say again, quieter this time. Not defiant, just... resolute.
“Cybil—”
“You said it yourself—Mr. Ramirez notices everything.” I meet his eyes, steady now. “If he suspects me and I suddenly just vanish, it’ll confirm every doubt he has. I have to stay.”
He’s silent for a beat. Thinking. And then his expression falls. He doesn’t have a way out of this. Except through me and the plan Ben and I have to take Ramirez down.
“I’m so sorry, Cybil.” His voice is raw. “I’ll do whatever I can to get you out of this—to protect you. You have my word.”
I nod, throat tight. I want to believe him. And part of me does.
But the other part of me knows better. My pulse hammers beneath layers of lies, each one heavier than the last. I take a deepbreath and steady my voice, because the truth is, the only person I’ve ever trusted to fight for me... is the boy who once promised to meet me under an oak tree. And the man who showed up anyway—even when I never did.
I don’t think twice. I just say it. “Sir, I need to tell you about Craig Miller.”
Chapter 38
Ben
Dallas, Texas
Monday evening
Another day, another felon with too much money and not enough imagination. Lucky for him, I’ve plenty of both.
I’m sitting at a table on the rooftop of Stirling and Vine. The steaks are dry-aged, the waiters can moonlight as bodyguards, and private deals are as abundant as the lies whispered over seared scallops and bourbon.
“If you’re happy with everything we discussed”—I slide the contract across the table between us—“sign here and your money’ll becleaningitself through five countries and a church donation box before you finish that glass of scotch.”
Marshall Dade doesn’t even blink. The Texas oil tycoon made his first billion handling land rights, drilling contracts, and a wide network of senators on speed dial. As far as I can tell, he’s conducted his business legally—until now. Now he’s trying to keep the IRS out of his pocket and his name off any list that ends in “sanctions.”
He picks up the glass, swirling it like it’s a vintage truth serum. “I never rush through a scotch, son.”
I smile. “Then I’ll make sure the first wire hits before the ice melts.”
He smiles appreciatively. “I didn’t think anyone wore those anymore.”
“What?”
“Tie tacks.”
