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“I don’t know how to say this, other than just saying it, so...” I fill my lungs with air before releasing my breath. “I’m fairly certain our dads run some kind of sex trafficking ring and have been for a very long time.”
Jazz blinks rapidly. “O-kay
...that’s...wow, um...that’s really fucked up. But what does that have to do with my mom?”
My lips thin. “Because I think your mom was directly...affected by it.”
I can see the wheels turning in her head. “You think she was their victim?”
I nod solemnly. “I do.”
“Holy shit. The conversation we overheard between them makes so much sense now.” Jazz’s voice is barely above a whisper.
I gulp when I see her eyes water. “Yeah, it does.”
“But why would my mom stick around for so long if she was being abused? Why would they just let her go? Wouldn’t they worry about her turning them in? Or did she escape somehow? God, if this is true, that means the only reason I exist is because my mom was repeatedly raped by that sick bastard.” Jazz places a hand over her stomach. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
I scoot closer, risking the potential vomit to wipe her tears away with my thumbs. "I have some ideas about part of it, but nothing has been confirmed.”
“What kinds of ideas? Don’t sex traffickers keep their victims isolated in dank places, or sell them off to the highest bidder? If she truly was their prisoner, why was she living in a multi-million dollar mansion? Why was she allowed to befriend your mom? She looks happy in that picture." Jazz gasps. "Oh my God, what if she wasn't a victim, but she was actually working with them? I can’t believe she’d do something like that, though. I’m so confused.”
I grab her hand. “Hey. There’s no way she was working with them, Jazz, so get that out of your head right now.”
She frowns. “But how can you be so sure?”
“Because she fits the victim profile perfectly. Young, beautiful, no money, no family. John says your mom was listed as a runaway a few months before she turned eighteen and aged out of the system. Based on when you were born, that'd be about the same time she got pregnant, which means she already knew Charles."
“But why does she look so happy in this picture?” Jazz waves the photo around. “She looks healthy. Definitely not like someone who was being abused.”
“That’s the part I’m still working on. One thing I’ve learned over the last two years is that sex trafficking comes in many forms. If that is what they’re doing—and like I said, I’m fairly certain it is—then it’s a pretty sophisticated operation. They have to somehow be hiding their activities behind a legitimate business; they’re too clean. John is excellent at what he does, and he can't find a single piece of evidence linking them to a crime. He suspects some influential people are suppressing evidence to save their own asses."
Jazz pulls back and tilts her chin up to look at me. “You’ve been looking into this for two years? But why? What made you suspect them in the first place?”
“A lot of little things that started to add up, but a conversation with my grandfather—on my mom’s side— was the catalyst.”
She scoots back against the arm of the couch. “How so?”
"Ainsley and I flew to San Francisco to visit our grandfather shortly before he died, which was just over two years ago. He had colon cancer and wanted to see his only heirs before he passed. We didn't spend a lot of time with him growing up, so we weren't close, but I think Ains and I needed a chance to say goodbye because he was the only link we had to our mom beside each other." I swallow the lump in my throat. "We never got the chance to say goodbye to her."
Jazz’s eyes are filled with sympathy as she listens.
"Anyway...one day, he told me we needed to talk. Man to man. He proceeded to tell me how he felt about my father; he never liked him, didn't trust him from day one. He thought my dad was only after her money. My father comes from wealth, spanning several generations back on the Davenport side. But my mom was the sole heir to one of the world's largest luxury hotel chains. Her family's money makes my dad's bank accounts look like pocket change.
“According to my grandfather, when my parents started dating, he tried putting a stop to it. He knew something wasn’t right. My dad was literally old enough to be her father, and they seemed to have nothing in common. Unfortunately, Preston Davenport can be pretty damn charming when he wants to be, and she fell for it. Got pregnant early into their relationship. Once she found out they were having twins, she agreed to marry him.
"The honeymoon phase didn't last long, though. I was eight when she died, so it isn't too clear, but even in my earliest memories, I can easily recall how vastly different their personalities were. How often they argued. My grandfather told me she was planning to leave him right before she died. She was going to take Ainsley and me away from here and move to San Francisco, where she grew up.
“She called my grandfather one day, told him he was right all along; her husband was a liar. My mom confessed to learning something awful about my dad’s business dealings. She claimed she filed a police report, detailing everything she knew, so she had to take the kids and get out as fast as possible. When my grandfather asked her to explain, she promised she’d tell him everything once she arrived in the Bay Area.” I rub the tension at the back of my neck. “She never got the chance because she died later that day.”
Jazz isn't even trying to stifle her tears anymore, and it's killing me. "How did she die?"
I unclench my jaw. “The official cause of death is drowning, but a toxicology report showed she had a large amount of heroin in her system. Police concluded she shot up a little too much, went for a swim, and passed out.”
Jazz stares through the windows at the illuminated pool just beyond the door. “You don’t think that’s what really happened?”
“Not after speaking with my grandfather.” My eyes fog over as I look out the window. “The timing is too suspicious. And she was fully dressed, which is an odd choice for swimming, don’t you think?”
“Do you think your dad...killed her?”
