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“So he was involved initially, then they cashed him out?”
“Because he backed out?” Dane wondered.
“Possibly. If he started to suspect something fishy.”
Dane got to his feet and prowled the vault. “I was born in 1983. My parents died in 1983.”
“And the last reimbursement came in 1983. Just two weeks before you were born.” I waved the slip from the very back of the last folder in the air.
“Six weeks before they died.”
We stared at each other. Sure, my conspiracy theorist mind went in all different directions, but inevitably it landed on one particular thought. “Is it conceivable that your father realized things weren’t going the way they were supposed to with the society, he pulled out, and they let him, for appearance’s sake? Even went so far as to give him the money due. And then six weeks later…?”
“They killed him. And my mother was a casualty of war?”
“Victim of circumstance. There’s no justifying it. But let’s extrapolate.”
He gave me a teasing look, despite the gravity of the situation. “Do you have any idea how sexy it is to hear you use the term extrapolate?”
I laughed. “Only a brainiac such as yourself would find that sexy.”
“Okay, maybe it’s just you in general.”
“Stay focused.”
“Right.”
“So you said that Ethan had wooed you from the beginning, when you arrived at Harvard. Is it really too far-fetched to assume that he and the other members of the society kept tabs on you from birth? Using Mikaela as a source of information.”
He considered this.
I continued. “Were there indications that you’d end up at Harvard instead of Yale or Princeton or wherever? Did Ethan follow your progress and align himself accordingly, so that the two of you were ‘destined’ to meet? And then he recruited you without ever having to mention that you technically did fall within the generational rule of the Illuminati?”
“At this point, nothing is too far-fetched. And all of it is fucking bullshit.” Angst rolled off him in waves as we got closer and closer to an absolute revelation he might have to accept. The emotion was mixed with something even stronger—a rage I suspected was related directly to the implication that his parents might have died by society hands.
That would be more excruciating for him to face than Ethan’s betrayal.
I kept sifting through the files Dane had extracted from drawers.
“Unfortunately”—I loathed admitting the reality of the situation—“the plot thickens.”
“Ari!” he ground out, tormented.
“Dane.” I’d located the last needle in the haystack. Extracting the gold coin from an accordion sealed folder, I flattened it on my thumb and then flicked my thumb with my index finger, sending the coin Dane’s way.
He caught it with one hand. Kept his gaze on me as he opened his fist.
“Final proof,” I simply said.
He tore his emerald eyes from mine and stared at the NOS insignia in his hand.
“Fuck!”
I nodded. I could see how this gutted him, and that pained me, too. But there was no way to hide from this, no way to shove the files and the evidence into the drawers, seal the vault shut, and pretend we never pieced together an insidious puzzle that went well beyond my web on our office wall.
We’d just thrown onto the table the very real possibility that Dane’s entire life, his entire existence, was based on a lie.
Worse …
