Page 61 of Diamonds in the Mud

He shrugged once more, the nonchalance of his demeanor unsettling. “I didn’t count it, but my guess was about a hundred grand or so.”

“Shit.” My thoughts raced. “The Reapers dropped off a hundred thousand dollars to Henry Taylor?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah, at least I think it was to Henry Taylor. I mean, I didn’t see the man since I stayed out in the car.”

“Where did that money come from?” I asked, my voice tinged with urgency.

“That’s the lead I want to follow up on,” he said cryptically, his expression inscrutable. “For now, at least I’ve confirmed that the money is no longer at the Taylor’s place.”

“You’ve…” I narrowed my eyes, a mixture of curiosity and frustration coursing through me. “How?”

He smiled enigmatically. “I have my ways.”

I groaned. “Do not tell me you broke into the house.”

“Okay.” He flashed a mischievous grin. “I won’t tell you.”

I threw up my hands in exasperation. “I know you have to do what you have to for the job, but from here on out, keep me in the dark about any illegal activities.”

“Will do.” He chuckled.

“Why would the Reapers be giving Henry Taylor money?” I asked.

“That’s what I’m hoping to find out. From what I know about the man, he’s not the type I’m looking for. Running an undercover drug ring that stretches over more than a dozen states just isn’t his cup of tea. Besides, I don’t think he has what it takes up here”—he tapped the undamaged side of his head—“to be an evil mastermind.”

As I ran through my mental dossier on the man, the intricate tapestry of the Taylor family’s history unfurled before me like a dark, tangled web. They had always been shrouded in controversy, their legacy tainted by the shadow of their past deeds.

First, as one of the largest slave owners in the area, they had wielded their wealth and influence to maintain their stranglehold over both land and people, clinging desperately to their way of life even as the Civil War loomed on the horizon. Theirs was a legacy built on the backs of others, steeped in the blood and sweat of generations enslaved.

But even after the abolition of slavery, the Taylors had found new ways to exert their dominance, using the laws and the weight of their money to crush any competition that dared to challenge their supremacy. Gemsville, once a small town beholden to their every whim, had grown beyond their control, but the Taylors had adapted, their grip on power only tightening with the passing years.

Henry Taylor, the scion of this dynasty, had inherited his family’s legacy of entitlement and privilege. His upbringing had been steeped in the trappings of wealth and power, his path in life paved with golden promises and silver spoons. But where his forebears had thrived, Henry had faltered, his reputation tarnished by whispers of incompetence and indolence.

Rumors had long swirled around him, painting him as a ne’er-do-well, a mere shadow of his illustrious lineage. He had coasted through school only due to his family’s influence, his diploma a hollow testament to his lack of ambition. Afterward, he had taken a position in his father’s company, a cushy job that demanded little and offered even less.

His forced marriage due to Sharon’s pregnancy was surrounded by whispers of scandal back in the day. The untimely death of Henry’s parents and his subsequent ascension in the family threw more fuel to the rumor mills.

The pair stayed under the radar for years until Sharon ascended to the mayor’s office. Then Henry’s ambitions had suddenly ignited, fueled, no doubt, by a burning desire to prove his worth. No longer content to be a mere footnote in his family’s storied history, he had seized every opportunity to assert his authority, his hunger for power driving him to grasp control wherever he could.

It was as if he were trying to outrun the shadows of his past, to carve out a place for himself in a world that had long overlooked him. And now, as I contemplated his meteoric rise to prominence, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Henry Taylor than met the eye. Beneath the facade of respectability lurked a man driven by ambition and haunted by the ghosts of his family’s legacy.

I felt an urge to move him up on the list of suspects in his wife’s murder. Had I fallen prey to his ploys like everyone else in town?

“Text my private number and let me know when you get back to your parents’ place safely,” Jameson broke into my thoughts. I nodded as he shut off the lights in the hidden room and slid open the doorway. “I’ll walk you as far as I can,” he added.

We stepped out of the secret room, and I realized that an entire brick wall had slid silently open to allow access to the space.

From what I could tell, his loft apartment was huge. The light from the massive windows that overlooked the street lit the space well enough that I could see he kept things tidy. He helped me through the dark living room, past the kitchen, and to the front door.

“Later, I hope I can visit your place in the daytime. I’d like to see what kind of house you keep,” I joked.

He chuckled. “I’m a clean freak. I suppose it comes from having to keep my shit hidden. My real shit at any rate.”

He opened his door and stepped out, looking around. I waited until he came back.

“It’s clear, from what I can tell. Still, stick to the shadows. I’ve turned off the porch light. There are twenty-two stairs to the pathway.”

“Thanks.” I leaned up and kissed him again. “Night.”