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Until Callie.
She sold that photo of Christine to them. It had to be her. She admitted to selling photos to them over the years.
Damn her. My body is taut with the need to find her, make her stop, protect my family. No. I take deep breaths to beat back the rage rushing through me.
Is Callie in cahoots with Dylan? Or is she a pawn? There’s one way to find out. I turn the facts over in my head. Callie knows Dylan, or someone at his company. I’m back to square one with ruining Dylan. And time is running out if Christine and Mia are being targeted. This has to be solved before the baby. Callie is smart. She knows my routines. She’ll never stop, unless I make her stop.
Make her stop. And use her.
I stalk back to my desk, my movements tight and controlled. I shove the rage down and focus on the list I keep in my desk drawer.
Every name is crossed off except for one. Dylan Green. The man I hate the most. I pull out a fountain pen and add one more name to the list. Callista Thompson. The harsh pen strokes make dark slashes across the page and satisfaction coils in my stomach.
Revenge. For my family’s honor. For my sister’s suffering. For mine.
And I know just how to obtain it. Kill two birds with one stone. Get back at Dylan and use Callie to do it. Keep her close. Make her pay for the articles and the photos. Dangle her in front of Dylan when I’m done. Her paper will be caught in the fallout.
I pick up my phone and press 1 to reach George.
“How can I help?” Their voice is smooth, unbothered. I could ask George to hide a body and they would simply ask if they could get reimbursed for the shovel. The person we hire for me needs to have that quality in spades. It is, unfortunately, incredibly difficult to find, which is why Miles acquiesces every time George asks for an obscene pay raise.
Callie Thompson should never have tangled with me. I can’t wait to destroy her.
“I need you to find out everything you can on Callista and Arnold Thompson.”
* * *
The best place to discuss revenge is a quiet Italian restaurant near my Upper West Side townhouse. If only I could get my sister to focus.
She crunches a seeded breadstick while I glare at her.
“I’m not giving this up, Christine.”
She swallows and sighs. She’s the spitting image of our mother. Wild, dark hair, dark eyes, a strong jaw. Christine says it makes her look too manly, but to me she’s just my baby sister.
“It’s in the past, J. Why are you so focused on this?”
By this, she means my revenge against Dylan Green. He deserves to be ruined for what he did. I slowly take a bite of my bolognese. Slowly, because I want to rage, but we’re at my favorite place near my apartment, and I’m not about to upset Silvio with my antics. My icy calm would have a business rival scurrying, but my sister simply sips her wine.
My hand tightens on the fork, and I set it down carefully. “I will never forgive myself for letting him into our lives. He hurt you. And now he’s taking an interest in you again. What if he goes after Mia or the baby?” Christine flinches at my words. It’s her worst nightmare. “I didn’t make him pay at the time, but now? I can’t let the baby be born into a world in which he escapes with no consequences.” My voice is rough, and Christine’s expression twists in sympathy.
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is my fault. I brought him close to the family. I told him about your girlfriend. I trusted him.” I spit the words, the force of my anger and shame making it hard to breathe. “He made you miserable for a year. We had to move because of all the reporters at the house. Mom loved that house.” Christine had too. She wanted her future kids to grow up in that house.
Christine’s face takes on the haunted expression she wore after Dylan began publishing articles about the family. “I don’t want to talk about this,” she says. My chest pinches at the fear in her eyes. “He doesn’t merit any more of your time.”
“After what he did to you? To me? You hate him. You've wanted to get back at him for years.”
She leans forward. “I can’t afford to hold on to grudges now. Not with the baby coming.” She points her fork at me. “And don’t try to blame this on me. What he and Annalise did to you…” She shakes her head and goes back to eating. “That was worse. It’s okay to be mad for yourself, J. It doesn’t make you weak to admit how much they hurt you.”
My throat is tight, until I sip my wine to clear it. “It took me years to claw my way back to the top. Dylan and Annalise fucked me over. And they deserve to pay.” Each word makes rage boil through me, just like the events of six years ago did. “I nearly had him. His COO was this close to giving him up for tax fraud until that reporter from the New York Star published the article.”
Dylan has weaseled his way out of every trap I’ve set for him, thanks to his mommy being a federal prosecutor and his dad the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Tax fraud is a big fucking deal and goes straight to the IRS. The taste of victory was on my tongue, and now all I can taste is disappointment.
“What reporter?” Christine cocks her head. “Wait, the one who published those photos of you jogging last spring?” She grins. “Man, the comments on those were so good.”
“The very same.” Callie Thompson has been a thorn in my side for far too long.
