Red saw the moment the fear returned.
Mo folded his hands on the table. “The cartel wasn't after you.”
Kit swallowed. “Okay.”
“If the cartel wasn't after you...” Mo continued carefully, “then we had to ask who torched the clubhouse.”
The silence stretched.
“Who?” Kit asked.
“We started following the money.”
Red noticed Mo’s hesitation. Watched Kit completely miss what was coming.
“It was arranged,” Mo said. “The fire. The threats. The attacks. The whole thing.”
Kit shook his head. “I don't understand.”
His voice was smaller now. Less certain.
“This entire operation,” Mo said quietly, “has been a smoke-and-mirrors exercise from the beginning.”
“By who?”
No one answered. The air seemed to disappear from the room.
Kit looked pleadingly at Red, reached out, and Red grabbed his hand and held it tight. His face had gone pale.
“Who did this?” he whispered.
Red already knew. The pieces had fallen into place the moment Mo mentioned the money. The threats. The timing. Smoke and mirrors. They’d all been played. Including him.
“It was an insurance scam,” Mo said.
Kit stared.
“A very elaborate one.”
“No.”
The word escaped Kit before Mo had even finished.
“No.”
Mo held his gaze.
“I'm sorry, Kit.”
“Who did this to me?” Kit demanded.
But by the devastated look on his face, Red was sure he already knew.
The room went silent. No one moved. No one breathed. And Red knew exactly what Mo was about to say.
“It was your brother.”
Chapter Eighteen
