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“You’ve been doing some work for the owners of the Whiskey Run,” Angelo says, his voice eerily calm.
“I have,” Orlando says, motioning to the little tray of water and drinks, but Angelo waves him off. “The business just changed hands, and I’ve been hired to have all the legal paperwork taken care of.”
“Who is the owner?” Angelo asks, leaning closer, his elbows on the desk.
Orlando adjusts his tie. “I don’t actually know, Mr. Medici. The owners only go under a company name. Actually, several company names, with an offshore bank account.”
Angelo frowns.
If he’s telling the truth, then someone has gone to great lengths to cover everything up. He’s never even met the owners and he’s working for them? Sounds fishy to me.
“We need everything that you have on the Whiskey Run, past and present,” Marco interjects.
Orlando opens his mouth, ready to protest, but shooting a glance at Angelo, he quickly snaps it shut. “Of course.”
He turns to his computer and hits a button to bring it to life. “It’ll be just a moment.”
“And the hard copies,” I add. “You lawyers always get swamped with paperwork.”
“Everything gets loaded onto the database,” Orlando tells us, then adds, “But I’m happy to get my assistant to photocopy everything.” His hands shake when he types. He’s compliant, which is good for him.
“Is it unusual for a business owner to be so secretive about who they are?” I ask, rubbing my chin. Something about this has always felt off. Even now, I get that tingling feeling that something bad is brewing. I know we have multiple company names as well to protect our identity, Angelo’s safe house at Falmouth is buried under company names so nobody can trace it to him. It isn’t unheard of, but the Whiskey Run? It’s obvious to me it’s just a guise for something more sinister… like a front for an operation to take over this city.
“No, it’s not unusual, but also not that common. There are a lot of companies who do this to protect identities, especially when doing a takeover.”
“Is that what happened here?”
He looks up. “To be honest, I don’t ask questions. I hear things, sure, but I’ve been in the game long enough to know when to keep my mouth shut and my wallet open.”
I chuckle. Angelo side-eyes me.
“You know that the Whiskey Run has been involved in illegal activity?” Marco adds.
Orlando flicks his eyes to my brother. “Again, I don’t ask questions. I take the money, draw up contracts, and get paid.”
Angelo gives him a chin lift. “You’re very forthcoming with information. Some may say you’re a rat.”
He straightens his tie. “You’re Angelo Medici,” he says simply. “I’ll tell you anything you need to know. I have a wife and kids and I want to go home tonight.”
Angelo snickers. “Good answer.”
“I can email my files to you,” Orlando says. “As long as I am assured of your anonymity.”
“Send them to me,” I say, then to Angelo. “I’ll forward them to Sloane.”
Angelo nods. He looks a little more relaxed. Maybe it’s because Orlando is being as honest as a lawyer can be.
As Angelo goes to stand, as if reading my mind, he says, “If you’re lying…”
Orlando pales and holds his hands up. “I would never… Mr. Medici, I was loyal to your Uncle Mario in his dealings with his son’s arrangements. We had several meetings in regard to Roberto’s last will and testament…” he trails off. “Yes, well, he was a good man.”
Angelo does his jacket button up as I stand also. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything more. Have the files sent to my office at the Royale.”
“Yes, Mr. Medici.” He nods to all of us in turn.
We go to leave, and Marco grips my shoulder as we exit and wait for the elevator.
“Think he’s telling the truth?” Marco asks.
