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But it was so much worse.
Ezra’s hands on my shoulders were the only thing anchoring me upright. He played with my hair, soothing strokes that gave me something to focus on other than the blinding fear coursing through my veins.
“Ez, what’s going on?” I heard from behind me, but the buzzing in my ears overtook my senses.
If there was smoke, there was fire. The legal system’s standards of proof protected innocent people from going to jail. It didn’t ensure guilty people were convicted. Prosecutors couldn’t always establish that the defendant had, beyond a reasonable doubt, committed the crime. It didn’t mean they were innocent, just that they hadn’t been found guilty.
But maybe I was wrong.
I prayed to whatever deity was listening that I was blowing this way out of proportion.
Maybe the liquidator was innocent.
Maybe this had nothing to do with the crime family who’d invested in my mother’s company. Maybe it was pure coincidence.
I’d been terrified of them for years. I saw the trail of destruction they left behind if you knew where to look—the dead bodies and those who weren’t as lucky, the yawning gaps in data where they wholesale deleted anything inconvenient, the influence they exerted to sway governments to their bidding. These people wore perfectly pressed suits and shiny gold watches or evening gowns with sparkling diamonds to hide their rotting, maggot-infested cores. If Mum somehow got involved with them or dared to stand in their way, she wouldn’t have stood a chance.
If they knew Tristan was investigating, he’d be next. I whimpered, the sound escaping my throat before I could bite it back. Ezra was there, wrapping his arms around me from behind, shielding me. I sank into his embrace, resting my forehead against his cheek.
“Ezra,” I heard in the background.
Tristan added quietly, “There’s more.”
“Fuck,” I hissed, gripping Ezra’s hand and interlacing our fingers, holding on for dear life.
“There was a mistrial. Even after extended deliberations, the jury couldn’t reach a unanimous decision.”
“Fuck,” I repeated. I knew in my gut what he was about to say, but I hoped I was wrong, nevertheless.
“They suspected jury tampering, but it never went to trial. An arrest warrant was issued for the juror, but the police found them dead by an apparent suicide when they went to execute it.”
Bile surged up my throat, my gut churning. The chances that the liquidator was innocent were now Buckley’s and none.
Like Tristan had said, there were too many coincidences. And too many coincidences piling up meant none at all.
This liquidator worked for the Martinelli family. They were powerful enough to have people on the inside of the global financial powerhouses, one of which acted as liquidators for ReimagINC. I’d bet good money that they’d had a hand in usurping the Australian liquidators in favour of this American “expert.” The same expert who happened to have been tried a few years later for white-collar crimes in connection with that very family—the same one connected through marriage to an investor in Mum’s company. There was every chance the liquidator got away with his crimes because the family paid off a juror, then killed them to hide the evidence.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” I whispered.
“Ezra, Zali,” Dad growled, louder now and from directly in front of me. “What. Is. Going. On?”
“Some information has come to light,” Ezra explained. “It’s distressing. We’ll explain it all in a minute.”
Dad glared at Ezra, his lip turned up in a snarl as he gnashed his teeth and clenched his fists. He was getting ready for a fight, and all I could do was whisper, “Tell me he was re-tried.”
“No,” Tristan sighed. “He wasn’t. It was because of a technicality as well—an obscure loophole that hadn’t successfully been used to quash proceedings in nearly a hundred years. The state’s legislature passed laws preventing it from ever being used again straight after.”
“You need to stop, Tristan,” I ordered, but my tone was filled with pleading rather than steel. “Stop looking into him, stop searching for him, tell Jude to stop looking into the liquidators too. Everything. Stop it now. It’s too dangerous.”
Ezra gathered me closer, his arms tightening their hold around me as he bodily covered me. His lips were pressed against my temple, and I was grateful he was there when the tear slid down my cheek. I couldn’t protect him once we got on their radar—we might have already pushed too far. I had enough money to disappear. I had enough to take them all with me to some deserted island where we could see them coming from miles away. But I suspected my men would be as reluctant to leave our families and friends as I was.
“Yeah, I agree,” Tristan murmured. There was a pause. “Where to from here?”
“I don’t know yet. I….”
“Hang up the phone,” Dad ordered, steel in his voice. “Now.”
“Go,” Tristan instructed me. “Be safe. I’m going to get Ry to go to Flynn’s and hang out there. You stay with Ezra. I think it’s better if I distance myself from all of you at least until we know our next steps.”
