Cybil
Dallas, Texas
Monday evening
The silence after the accusation is heavy enough to crush bone. Which, with the crusher parked twenty feet away, might actually be a possibility.
Ramirez stares at us, and I force myself not to look at Ben. I can’t. If I meet his eyes, I might lose whatever clarity I need to hold on to. Mr. Edmond reminded me last night how easy it is to be swayed by hopes and dreams and just how dangerous it is to give trust away.
“What is the meaning of this, Lorenzo?” Mr. Edmond asks, and I hear the slight tremor in his voice. Sebastian watches his father. He heard it too.
After last night’s conversation with Mr. Edmond, things shifted. I can’t help but see Sebastian differently. Not as the arrogant, aloof son of a wealthy developer, but as someone who, like my mom, trusted the wrong people. Who didn’t see the trap until it was already closed.
My mom didn’t trust herself to handle the settlement after my dad died—didn’t think she was stable enough, smart enough, strong enough to take care of me. Sebastian thought ambition was enough to keep him in control of the empire he was trying to build to prove he was capable of living outside of his father’s shadow. Both trusted someone who hadthe right credentials, the right words, the right promises. But it was all a lie.
Lies are what have led all of us here.
Ramirez isn’t here to build something. He’s here to tearsomeonedown.
“I agreed to a meeting to finalize the auction terms—not a field trip,” Edmond says, offering a tight smile. “What exactly are we doing here, Lorenzo?”
Ramirez paces slowly, his boots crunching over gravel, hands folded behind his back like a teacher about to assign someone detention. Except instead of spending hours bored to death in a room, the punishment here involves bullets.
“You know,” he says, pausing in front of Mr. Edmond, “when I brought you into this deal, I expected a certain level of... loyalty.”
Mr. Edmond shifts beside me, but he does not cower. “Your version of an invitation reads much more like extortion.”
Ramirez smiles. Callous. Cruel. He looks at Sebastian. “Your son wanted investors. I gave him an opportunity—”
“You tricked him!” Mr. Edmond growls. “You made him complicit toyourcrimes.”
Rook starts for him, but Ramirez holds up a hand. “I’ve got this, James.”
An audibledingpulls my attention to the laptop. Rook’s focus returns to it. He taps the keyboard and smiles, causing something in my gut to twist.
“My crimes?” Ramirez replies simply. “One shouldn’t throw stones.” His cold gaze swings to me. “Right, Ms. Langford?”
My heart drops into my stomach. Next to me, Sebastian shifts, but a sharp glance from Ramirez keeps him still.
A sudden noise breaks the tension—a low groan from the far side of the construction site. I glance over and spot Sammy Pawson, hunched near a cement mixer, hand braced on his knee.
Rook notices too. “You good?” he calls.
Pawson waves him off, but his face is pale, and he’s sweating like it’s a hundred degrees hotter than it is. He curses under his breath. “I need to... go.”
Without waiting for permission, he staggers toward the path leading down from the site, one hand pressed to his stomach. Nobody follows.
Rook watches him go, then mutters, “I told him he eats too much crap.”
“Shouldn’t we be focusing on the auction?” Ben asks, his voice calm, strong. The sound of it nearly undoes me.
Ramirez doesn’t look at him right away. He takes his time, eyes lingering on me a second too long before turning back to the laptop. Walking over, he twists it so that we can all see the lines of data flicker and shift on the screen. “The auction is already underway.”
My pulse races. The auction has started? No. That’s not how this was supposed to unfold. Not yet. Ben glances toward the laptop, too, the smallest flicker of alarm breaking through his mask. That wasn’t part of the script.
“So you see,” Mr. Ramirez continues and turns, his gaze landing back on me, “we can now focus on what’s in front of us.”
I stiffen.
