Page 87 of Kyle

“Both deceased. Suicide.”

Shit. That didn’t sound good. At all.

“Nothing screams guilt like a double suicide,” Emerson whispered.

“And you’d be right. The Tremblays were struggling. Beatrice was the only one working, they’d lost their house, and were living out of a motel.”

“Fallin’ on hard times and being homeless doesn’t equal selling your kid,” Myles put in.

“It doesn’t, but the two-hundred thousand dollars that appeared in their bank account does.”

“A transfer that large doesn’t set off red flags?” I asked.

“Not when it comes from your employer as an on-the-job injury settlement.”

“Employer?” I breathed. “What the hell?”

“Still working my way down the rabbit hole, but I thought you’d want to know what I’d found so far.”

“What’s your gut telling you, Garrett?” Myles queried.

“Can’t find it yet, but I bet Icon Fashion has ties to Omni. That’s where Beatrice worked.”

“Icon? That’s owned by Madeleine Strotherby,” I said in disbelief.

Madeleine had to be in her eighties now. She was a fashion model, turned actress, turned fashion designer. She also had a line of perfumes and makeup. The world viewed the woman as a saint with all of her charitable work.

“Anaya, it pains me to burst your rosy perception,” Garrett started. “But it is my experience those who look the best on paper, those who try to show the world how good they are, are usually hiding something. And what they’re hiding is dark and heinous. Not saying I’m right about Icon, but when something stinks, it’s rotten. And the whole fucking thing surrounding the Tremblays stinks.”

“If you’re right, that’ll suck,” I mumbled. “Madeleine has given almost half her fortune away.”

“Maybe I am,” Garrett conceded, though he didn’t sound like he meant it. “I’ll be in touch.”

“What’s your opinion, Myles?” Emerson asked.

“Seen a lot in my life,” Myles started. “And I have to agree with Garrett. Wealth and power go hand-in-hand. Once someone acquires those, they don’t want to lose either.”

“And Omni? What about them?” I asked. “It sounds like all the people involved are wealthy business owners. Legit businesses. Why traffic women?”

“Not just women. Drugs, arms, antiquities, you name it, they deal it. The answer is simple. Money. More power. And I’m sure for men like Harry Landry and Jefferson Baldwin they get off on buying and selling women. They’re pigs and they think they can buy anything, own anything. What does a man who literally has the world at his fingertips buy? A person. The ultimate rush of power for scum like them. They have no morals, no soul, and the screams of their victims feeds their perverse egos. The man my team is tracking deals in weapons. He’s known to discount his loads if the buyers will allow him to watch.”

“Watch what?” I asked.

“The first raid.”

“The man likes to watch a raid?”

“Miguel Lopez gets his rocks off on watching innocent people die by the weapons he provides,” Myles explained.

“That’s…that’s…” I couldn’t finish my sentence because I didn’t even know what that was. Disgusting? Horrible?

“Fucked,” Myles provided. “That’s what it is. The man needs to be put to ground. And hopefully in the next forty-eight hours that’s where he’ll be.”

I sat back in my seat and thought about what Myles had said and the manner in which he said it. Nonchalant. Flippant. Like it was no skin off his back that he was telling me without actually telling me he was going to kill the man.

Then I realized I didn’t much care if a man like Miguel Lopez was going to die.

The world would be a better place for it.