“Hello?” Lynch asks. “Mr. Wolf?” He’s annoyed that I’ve kept him waiting.
I bite back a feral grin. “What do you have in mind?”
Kate’s awake now, staring at my phone like it’s a portal to another world. Her hair’s a tangled mess, and remnants of yesterday’s makeup still ring her eyes. Her wrists are marked with dusky bruises. She’s clutching the sheet to her chest like it’s some sort of shield.
I consider taking a picture and shooting it to her father. I’m curious to see what that would do to Lynch’s negotiating stance.
He’s backing into his request, taking his time like most of my clients do. “My wife tells me you and she had a private conversation last night.”
I said one word—enough.“Not exactly,” I say now.
He clears his throat. Swallows audibly. I can imagine him plucking at his sweaty, too-tight collar. “Orla says you overheard some confidential business discussions. Things you might have misunderstood.”
I heard a mob wife threatening her daughter. I heard that Kate gives money to keep her clan afloat. “No misunderstandings at all,” I say.
My cool reassurance only leads to more throat-clearing. The man should get his lungs checked. “Much of my income comes from overseas ventures,” he finally says. “Import, export, that sort of thing. As a result, I find myself facing certain…business concerns, a variety of complicated, highly confidential offshore issues.”
I understand all that perfectly: He’s laundering money. Kate holds up one hand, palm out in the universal signal forStop.
“After an independent audit, it’s come to my attention that certain aspects of my business network are highly…vulnerable to exploitation by outside forces, and that my inward-facing and outward-facing electronic communication platforms could be updated in a system-wide security overhaul.”
He’s caught someone embezzling. Kate shakes her head.
“I’ve checked with a number of business associates, men with certain family ties, and your name has come up as a person with the knowledge, skills, and abilities to manage my unique business proposition. I’m told you understand national and international financial regulation, including the implications of certain…taxation matters.”
He’s looking for someone willing to work with the mob. Kate mouths, “Hang up.”
Lynch waits for me to say something. I’m not inclined to help him out. Kate sighs with exasperation and repeats her silent command:Hang up.She adds, stretching her lips around the word: “Now.”
Lynch finally says, “Let me cut to the chase.”
“Do,” I say.
“My line of business is highly sensitive. I can only work with a small circle of colleagues I trust completely. In the past, I have restricted all substantial contracts—like the one we’re discussing now—to members of my own family.”
“Then have a good day.”
“Mr. Wolf!” Lynch calls out, as if he can see my finger hovering over the red button to end the call. “I propose hiring you to manage all information services related to the Canton Crew. I’m offering a retainer of ten million dollars a year.”
Lynch is a minor mob boss, but he’s willing to spend to gain status. I don’t respond. I’ve long since learned that silence encourages clients like Lynch to bargain against their own interest.
“Plus expenses,” he adds, tripping over the words in his hurry to fill the open gap. “Which I understand can be as much as another five million a year.”
He’s telling me how much I can pad my bills.
Even Kate can’t argue with that. She’s staring at my phone so intensely it’s in danger of overheating.
“Twenty,” I finally say. “Plus expenses.”
“There’s only one condition,” Lynch says. He clears his throat. Swallows loud enough for me to hear. Fiddles with something that sounds suspiciously like ice in a tumbler, even though it’s barely eight in the morning.
“One condition,” I prompt, because this conversation is starting to bore me.
“Non-negotiable,” he says. “Because I need to know I can trust you. I need you to be family. You must marry my older daughter, Kaitlín Minola Lynch.”
8
KATE
