Page 97 of False Flag

Coho, Washington

“This boat yours?” Casper asked, nodding to the ID. “Are you…Kalahwamish?”

The tone was a mix of skeptical and irritated. A man whose wealth meant he didn’t have to hide his racism and couldn’t begin to understand why such a thing might be necessary.

“No. It belongs to one of my dad’s fishing buddies. Lou Warren. When Lou heard Lloyd died, he wanted to help.”

Casper looked surprised. Possibly confused. But then, Jake figured odds were decent that Lloyd had been vocal about his prejudice toward the tribes after they lost their childhood home. If Casper knew about this, then his conversations with Lloyd hadn’t been casual.

But then, they would have discussed the prehistory of the area and Casper’s extensive land holdings. It was bound to come up.

Staci placed a hand on Jake’s shoulder for balance and stepped to the dock. “Lou was so nice to help us. He couldn’t deliver the boat himself, but he got the tribal chairman to do it. Can you believe that? Bastian Ford said it worked out for him because he was headed this way for a meeting with the Union of British Columbia Indian Chiefs and the First Nations Summit to discuss the reparations bills that are being proposed in the US and Canada.”

“Chief Ford is here?” Casper asked, eyes narrowed on the boat.

“No. Chairman Ford took the ferry from Vic to Vancouver.” Staci cinched her backpack tight as she spoke. “For the meeting. Really fortuitous that he was here, though, because Bastian was able to hook me up with First Nations Chiefs and community members I need to consult with for Gerard’s expedition.”

Casper’s face reddened.

“Unfortunately, the names your archaeological inventory report provided didn’t pan out, so it was great to have Bastian give me a personal introduction. I’ve got interviews lined up all next week.”

“My assistant will need to approve the names of anyone you invite to this island.”

“Oh, no worries there. With Rosalie, I can go to them.” Staci pointed to the name on the stern. “Rosalie is named after Chairman Ford’s great-aunt, Rosalie Warren. You might have heard of her? The last years of her life were dedicated to preserving tribal culture and ensuring her people received reparations that were promised decades before.”

Casper’s face reddened further. “Her name isn’t familiar.”

Oh, he knew of Rosalie Warren all right. Jake wished he could take a photo of the man’s flushed face and send it to Bastian. Something to share with Rosalie the next time he visited her grave.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Jake sat down in Lloyd’s desk chair. He didn’t expect to feel Lloyd here, but still, there was something he was seeking in inhabiting his brother’s space, and he wasn’t sure what it was.

He drummed his fingers on the dark wood surface. This job—this room—had represented a dream come true for his brother. Living on a billionaire’s private island. Being part of Campbell’s inner circle. Sharing an office with Staci Allen.

He’d thought he had a golden ticket. At last.

Hell, for a while, Jake thought he had too. He’d been so damned happy for his brother. Hoping the job would give him peace. Clarity. He’d see the truth and know Jake wasn’t the villain in his failed marriage.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Jake braced himself. The only person he wanted to see right now was Staci, and she was already in the room with him.

He reminded himself he’d chosen to be here. Still, it would have been nice to have a few minutes before he had to slip on a mask.

Dahlia entered without knocking. “We heard you were back. The expedition team has gathered in the dining room.”

He glanced at his watch. Dinner was usually served at six. It was just after five. “Why so early?”

“Everyone wants to express their condolences.”

“Pass. I’m full up on thoughts and prayers.”

“It’s not just for you. We all cared about Lloyd.”

Did they, though? Lloyd had never mentioned any of them. Only Staci. And she said he didn’t join the others in the evenings when they watched TV or played games.

Lloyd had been a loner, even here.

“Sorry, Dahlia, I’m not in the mood. Not tonight. Not even tomorrow. Unless someone can explain to me why he’s dead, I don’t want to talk about him.”