Page 90 of Discretion at Its Finest

“Discuss what?” I asked, keeping my voice even.

“We’re sending out a statement this Friday. Telling the press that the Newman family is cooperating fully with the investigation, we have complete confidence in the integrity of our assets, and business will soon continue as usual.”

Raymond was quiet at the end of the table, but I could still feel his eyes on me as Gregory continued, “Cheryl has a contact at the Journal.” She smiled brighter. “He’ll run an op-ed all about the family facing adversity, legacy of service to the city, that kind of thing. It’ll build interest and reframe the narrative before the Feds comment on it.”

I mulled it over for a brief moment before muttering the words I meant to say only in my head. “What about Reid?”

Gregory paused for a moment, the distinct look of anger and jealousy crossing his features at the mention of his brother.

“Reid got us into this mess and is serving time for what he did,” he said. “The statement doesn’t mention him. He’s no longer a part of this family, Gen. He never was. Sooner westop acting like his absence is something to mourn, the better positioned we are when this is over.”

That made me pause, looking around at the table to see if anyone had caught the shift of blame onto the man who was brought in to save face. But Cheryl was nodding along and Raymond still hadn’t said a word.

Gregory had run Newman Trust into the ground for years. Now all of a sudden, Reid was the one to blame? The one who had been brought in to fix what Gregory had spent years quietly destroying. Everyone in this room knew that. But no one voiced it aloud.

Finally, Raymond spoke. “The Newman name has survived worse than this with or without Reid. We don’t need to involve his name in things while he’s in custody.” And on that note… that topic of discussion was over.

The conversation moved on before I’d finished processing what was happening. Deciding not to linger for longer than I needed to, I set my mug on the counter and left the room. No one even batted an eyelash when I did.

Chapter thirty-five

Reid

Three weeks had gone by since I’d been in placed into custody.

Surrounded by concrete and metal doors, fluorescent lights overhead that never turned off, infuriating silence.

I’d been reduced to this level when I was cast out of the only family I knew. Losing everything then, losing her, should have been worse than this. Because now I’d lived through it already. The loss, the pain, the betrayal. But this time it was different.

I sat on the edge of the cot, elbows on my knees, staring at the scuffed floor as another tray of untouched food cooled on the metal table, the jumpsuit they’d reduced me to scratching at my skin.

There were no charges, court date or updates regarding my imprisonment.

The government didn’t work like this. Sure, they had shitty proceedings and management, but I would’ve at least had an idea of what was going on by now. Even been assigned a lawyer to deal with arraignments and hearings until mine showed… but this was none of that.

This had been complete and utter silence. I was being kept in the dark by someone other than Uncle Sam. It had to be someone with money, someone with power, enough status to sway the federal government to do their bidding, keep me contained whether it was legal or not.

I let that annoyance build in my mind as I conjured up the possibilities of my outcome coming out of this. Because if not, my mind would drift back to her.

My Genevieve…

I couldn’t think too long about the time we spent apart. Her face when the elevator doors closed, the way she tore free of Raymond’s grip, the panic in her voice…

I replayed it more than I should’ve. Her silence in the past made leaving more brutal. But now, she wanted to be by my side, she didn’t want to leave me.

I hadn’t been allowed visits. I’m sure Alexander tried. I knew he was still moving the transfers. The silence alone told me that… or maybe it didn’t. All I knew was that if they’d caught him, I probably would’ve been interrogated by now. But no questions meant nothing had hit the radar yet.

I watched silently as a guard walked past my cell, eyes forward. They never looked directly at me. For some reason, I didn’t feel like a prisoner even though they tried treating me like one.

Another set of footsteps echoed, heavier and slower before entering a room and shutting it down the hall.

The door to my cell buzzed open and the door opened without any warning, officers entering in haste, pulling me to stand like an animal in a cage. And I let them.

Hands grabbed my arms. Cold metal clicked around my wrists, tighter than necessary. They probably wanted a reaction. I didn’t give them one.

They led me down another corridor, past empty cells, through a reinforced steel door, and into a separate holding wing, one meant for negotiation.

The cuffs were already digging into my wrists by the time the guards led me in. We were surrounded by more walls. Two guards at the door. One steel chair. No clocks, no time to keep. Only silence and confinement.