“At first, nothing.Files where you’d expect them to be.Contracts.Tax returns.Paper that makes lawyers rich.But then I started thinking like a guy who wants to hide something from other guys who want to find it.”
“Which you are,” I say.
He smirks.“Which I am.Second drawer down, right side.There’s a false bottom.”His gaze sharpens.“I nearly missed it.But I didn’t.Turns out it was cheap wood.I popped it with a knife.”
The monitor beeps a hair faster.I glance at it.“Take a deep breath and then keep going.”
“Old statements,” he says.“Way back.Bellamy Ranch got into some trouble when we were all little.”
“What kind of trouble?”I ask.
“I wasn’t able to figure that out from what I found.But I learned that Dad burned through most of Grandma’s Cooper Steel money.”He swallows.“All of it, Hawk.I don’t know how.It’s not in the statements.But it’s gone.”
“But wait… Grandma only died a little over a year ago.”
“I know.Dad kept it all from her.”
None of this makes sense to me.Eight years ago, Falcon went to Grandma to get the money we needed to pay for the drugs we destroyed to get Eagle out of trouble.She had it in cash.Her butler got it for Falcon.How is any of this true?
Then again, that was cash…
Eagle is talking about assets.Reallybigassets.
“So Dad controlled Grandma’s money?”I ask.
He nods.“Apparently.Or he controlledher.”
The room tilts.“Dad always had cash flow,” I say.“I mean, we had everything.The money had to come from somewhere.The ranch always made money.”
“Not that kind of money,” Eagle says.
“It had to come from somewhere.”
“From somewhere,” Eagle says quietly.“That’s the point.”
My heart sinks.Not because Eagle found out my father might be a criminal.I already knew that.But because this could take all of us down.
“So what else did you find?”I ask.
“That night, I went home and did some searching.On the dark web.”
My jaw tightens.“You told me you haven’t?—”
He rolls his eyes.“I wasn’t buying.I was reading.The dark web isn’t just a drug market.It’s forums, message boards.Places where people talk about things polite people pretend don’t exist.I found a corner where people were discussing Austin Bellamy.Rumors.Debt.And one name kept popping up.”
My mouth goes dry.“Say his name.”
“Diego Vega,” he says, and the monitor jumps.
The nurse’s shoes squeak in the hall like a warning.
I pitch my voice low and even.“Breathe.Slow in.Slow out.”
Eagle obeys, eyes closed, nostrils flaring.
“Evidence?”I ask when the beeping recedes to something like normal.
“As much evidence as you get in shadow markets,” he says.“The same usernames popping up across threads.Receipts with numbers blacked out, dates that line up with what I found in Dad’s false bottom.All paths led to the same place.”
