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“She can stay,” he tells me, waving me off.
I watch as Nessa Anne stands and rounds the desk, smiling smugly as she settles on Ben’s lap.
“Your brother wants to know how I found Jasmine Lockwood.”
“You told her?” I ask incredulously. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Watch your tone with me, Sullivan. Unlike you, I happen to trust your sister.”
My nostrils flare. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
Nessa Anne laughs. “Maybe. Or maybe you should be thanking Ben for making her impossible to find. Have you thought about that?”
“They found her.”
I watch them flinch. The both of them. Ben recovers first, tipping his chin. “How?”
I shake my head, lifting the file. “I don’t know. And to be honest, I don’t give a fuck. I want to know where you found her, who you paid—because it wasn’t her who received the money.”
“Her boyfriend,” Ben tells me simply. “He’s a dealer. Happily put Jasmine to work.”
“There’s more to it than that. I know there is. Jasmine—”
“I’d be guilt-ridden too, Lance.” Nessa Anne cuts me off, looking down at her nails as if they’re more important than the conversation. “But coming here demanding answers after nearly a whole year is a push even for you. Do you think it’s fair after the way you treated Ben? You fucked up. If Mason found Nina’s sister, that’s your problem, not ours. Deal with it.”
“What did you just say?”
She rolls her eyes, sighing as she looks up at me. “What part are you struggling with?”
“Nessa Anne—”
“You said Nina’s sister,” I say, cutting Ben short. “But how do you know that?”
She slowly rights her tilted head, her mouth slackening as the colour drains from her face.
“I found out after—after everything went down,” Ben assures me, his eyes not meeting mine as he sits up in the faded leather chair. “You laid me off, and I was pissed enough not to tell you.”
I stare at the both of them.
Ben—the smartest man I know. It’s why I asked him to help me.
And Nessa Anne—my fucking flesh and blood.
“I’m a fucking idiot, aren’t I?”
Silence.
I drop my burning, unhinged stare to the file, flicking it open and lifting the first document.
The account numbers.
NA.
I look up at Nessa Anne, my hand shaking. “They’re fake.”
“Lance—”
“You’re sick,” I say in disbelief. I swallow the bile rising in my throat, my next breath harder than my last. “You’re fucking sick in the head, the both of you… I knew… I knew Nina would never. Fuck, I knew it, and you….” I stare at Ben. “You talked me into it. You spent months working on it. Months telling me you found nothing, and all the time, it wasyou.”
