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After eight years apart, we were finally able to make up for lost timeandfulfill the destiny that had always been ours. That Allan had tried to keep from us.
The August sunshine warmed the tops of my shoulders as Zero and I stepped onto the rooftop patio to drink in some vitamin D before hitting the office. Zero did his business in the corner pee pad while I stared out at the mess of Manhattan, my chest on constant swell mode as I relished the rightness of life.
I’d vowed never to reconcile with Cora, but I’d only had half the story. The reality was that reconciliation led to more strength. A healthier me, a stronger business, a brighter future.
And who the fuck wouldn’t want that?
Once Zero was done, we headed through the penthouse and to our private elevator. I was early today, because Cora and I had started getting up early to exercise together, as if we’d been together for years instead of weeks.
Couldn’t say I minded.
As soon as the elevator doors pulled back, I stepped into a strange tension. The air felt gelatinous in its strangeness. Like a very questionable uncovered Jell-o found in your grandma’s fridge. Eyes flickered my way then darted away. A few underlings seemed downright skittish as I passed.
Were those whispers I heard?
This shit wasn’t flying in my own business. I spotted Francis in the lounge area, facing big windows overlooking the city. I pulled him aside.
“What’s going on?”
“Well good morning to you!” He removed his arm from my grip and looked me up and down. “You came in extra feisty this morning. I take it you saw the news?”
His words sank like a freighter in my gut. “What news?”
Francis’s dark brows drew together. “Oh, shit.”
“Francis.”
“Axel, I’m not supposed to be the one to break this to you.” Nervousness creased his features, and he looked around, as if plotting his escape. “Where’s Trace? He can tell you.”
“Francis.” I gripped his arms, making him face me. “What. The fuck. Is going. On?”
His nostrils flared as he drew a fortifying breath, his brown eyes searing through me. “There was an article published inBig Apple Mag.About you. About the Fairchilds.”
I blinked once, then again. “Aboutwhat?”
Francis shook his head, waving it off. “It’s just a rag-mag anyway. This will blow over. I promise. I’ve already contacted the PR firm—”
Anxiety stalked me, a silent predator. “Just tell me or I’m going to fire you.”
Francis studied the ground for a moment before answering. “It’s an expose about a sex trafficking ring you three are apparently involved in.”
“A—awhat?” The words didn’t even make sense to me.Sex traffickingandFairchildsonly existed on the same continuum as opposite ends.
Especially after what had happened to Kaylee.
“There’s a copy floating around here somewhere. Sit down. I’ll go find it.” He pointed at me sternly and I crumpled into the nearest armchair and tried to persuade myself that this was an elaborate joke somehow. But the whispers of my own employees told me something was seriously amiss.
What in the fuck is going on?
Francis returned a moment later and handed me the glossyBig AppleMag. It wasn’t purely rag-mag material—he’d just been saying that to make me feel better—but it did dance the line between journalism and gossip.
On the cover was an artistic silhouette of my brothers and me. Big typeface letters spelled out:The Unfairchilds and Their Secret Lives.
My fingers were jelly as I thumbed through the magazine. I could barely read the words on the page. A two-page spread highlighted the information obtained by an investigative journalist, linking my brothers—me—to a known trafficking ring.
The further I read, the more the mystery clarified, shadows pulling back to reveal something murky but identifiable. The reporter had linked the sex trafficking allegations with the reputation of Strata, the business we’d acquired last year.
And he wasn’t wrong. Stratahadbeen linked to sex trafficking, specifically via its former CEO, Yagel. But he didn’t have the story straight. We’d forced that CEO out; we’d bought the company tostopits functioning as a trafficking conduit.
