Ralston swung around to stare. “Is that really what you think? Dammit, woman, I was joking!”
“Well, keep your jokes for someone with a sense of humor first thing in the morning.” She still looked peeved. “I don’t usually like to joke with my one-night stands. I like to never see them again.”
“Duly noted.” Now it was his turn to be irritated. “You know what? I don’t have time for this bullshit. I need to figure out why I got carjacked last night by a man who apparently turned over that flash drive to a man named Aloysha who works at a Sokolov bar called the White Russian.”
“Are you talking about the same Aloysha that your sister and your cousin ambushed just last week?” Now Analise was very interested in his screen. “You can tell that from those numbers?”
“How is it that Nash claims you’re his go-to IT person?” Ralston muttered. “Those numbers are an IP address. It is one of several IP addresses, actually. The signal got bounced around, but it made it back here. What I can’t decide is why the computer that’s running this program right now is sitting in my father’s office at a Russian-owned bar. He supposedly is having problems with them, right? Sokolov cut him off.”
“But we know he’s been double-dealing,” Analise pointed out. “Remember that we only just recently discovered that Anton wants your father out of the picture. Your father’s battle is with Sokolov.”
“I’m starting to think that’s not really what’s going on.” Ralston started scanning through the information he could get from the computer at the White Russian. “Look at this stuff. These are bank records and accounting sheets for the bar, for about twenty casinos, and for three different restaurants. My father is still working for the Russians!”
Analise snorted. “That’s not exactly a surprise, genius.”
ANALISE COULD NOT understand why everyone was always trying to find redemption for Stedman Hyde-Pierson. The man was a complete asshole. He had essentially put a price on his family’s head just so he could collect their worldly goods and add them to his pile of dragon gold. He was ruthless and motivated, and under any other circumstances, Analise might actually admire the guy’s tenacity and commitment. Right now, he was just a pain in her ass.
Ralston was poking at his keyboard again. Analise realized that her words had very likely ripped at his pride. Men. They were so weird about that stuff. She sighed and decided to play nice. For now. “I’m not trying to be sarcastic here”—well, not really—“but I think we’ve all suspected since the beginning that your father wasn’t being honest about his mafia association. Don’t you think that’s the case?” Actually, she had heard him say as much.
Ralston got up from his seat and put his hands on top of his head. He wandered toward a large white board that he had been scribbling his notes on for what appeared to be months. Ralston had been at this far longer than Nash and his security team had been on scene. From what Analise could tell, Ralston had been the one to suspect his father was dirty from the very beginning.
“This is the part that baffles me.” He gestured to a corner of the board where he had put down the names of four family members. “Tegan, Kayla, Ava—my mother—and my aunt Francesca.”
“They’re all women who somehow managed to gain ownership of a part of your father’s business interests because of their connection to him,” Analise observed. Then she gestured to the last two names on the list. “I have a hard time believing that Stedman has the balls to go after Ava. Your mother is a badass.”
The ghost of a smile touched his features. “I won’t argue with that, but have you ever met my aunt Francesca?”
“No,” Analise admitted. “Quinten has been watching her place. He hasn’t said much, but then he never does.”
Ralston pointed to her name. “She technically owns half of Pierson Financial.”
“What?” Analise swung around in shock. “Half?”
“She is the widow of my father’s brother. The two of them inherited from my grandfather. It was an equal partnership.”
“And then?” Analise prodded. She could not believe that Stedman Hyde-Pierson would share that easily.
Ralston shrugged. “My uncle killed himself. Nobody is really sure of what happened, but he most certainly did it. He was alone in his study at home. Beyond that, he left a note.”
“What did it say?” Analise suddenly felt like this could be really important. What if that note held the answers to what Stedman’s secret really was?
“You would have to ask my aunt. Nobody but her has ever read it.” Ralston cocked his head to the side. “That might give you an idea of how tough Francesca is. You can imagine that my father wanted to know what that note said pretty damn badly.”
Analise could not imagine telling Stedman Hyde-Pierson no without having an army to back her up. Still, it might be worth looking into.
Chapter Seven
Ralston strode through the front doors of the large Bank & Trust building just down the street from his own office building. He had taken extra care with his appearance today. The designer suit had been custom made in Italy, and his shoes were from a cobbler in Milan that had been in business for more generations than the Hyde-Piersons had been in America.
Today was the day that Ralston intended to get answers. That meant a meeting with the bank president. Mr. Croft was in his sixties and had a reputation for being a total hard ass. As Ralston strode down the hallway of the twenty-fifth floor toward Croft’s big corner office, he could see the harried-looking personal assistant with her head bent as she worked at her desk.
Ralston turned up the charm and offered the woman a friendly smile. He remembered that her name was Dara. “Dara, I’d like to see Croft. Is he in?”
“Oh!” Dara looked up from the ledgers she was apparently trying to enter into the computer. “Mr. Hyde-Pierson, he’s very—well, he’s just—it’s not a good morning.”
Ralston thought of the information that he’d stolen from Nigel Phillips just the night before. He hadn’t had enough time to really do more than peruse it. What if there was something big going down and Ralston had let it slip past.
“Dara.” Ralston kept his tone almost coaxing. He perched on the edge of Dara’s desk and smiled down at her. “I can only imagine how stressful things have been lately.” Mostly because his father had been bullying the bank executives. “But I promise that Mr. Croft will want to hear what I have to say.” That was a total lie. Ralston could promise no such thing, but he could make a calculated guess.
Dara bit her lip. The poor woman’s chignon was falling down, and she looked pretty worn out. “I suppose you could go in. Just knock on his door and go. If you tell him who you are, he’ll just say he’s busy.”
“Because of my father,” Ralston guessed.
Dara wordlessly nodded. “He was in here earlier today. He was ranting and raving about some security breach or something like that. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s like the bank is in trouble.” Her eyes got wide with fear.
Ralston gently patted her shoulder. “It’s going to be all right.” At least he didn’t promise that. It would have been asinine to do so when he had no freaking clue how things were going to turn out. Not if Stedman was already sniffing at Ralston’s heels.
Taking a deep breath, Ralston left the poor administrative assistant to her thankless data entry and knocked on Croft’s big office doors. Then he leaned in close to listen.
The words finally drifted through the thick wood. “Who is it?”
Taking Dara’s advice to heart, Ralston turned the handle and walked right in. He knew a moment’s pause when Croft’s face began to turn red. The man was holding a golf club in one hand. He had obviously been putting on the green set up in the corner of his enormous office. Ralston was guessing that the older man had been hoping that the activity would help to calm him down. By the look of the vein throbbing in the man’s forehead, it didn’t seem to be doing a damn thing.
Ralston held up one hand. “I know
. My asshole of a father was already in here this morning.”
“You know, we hired you because we were hoping that by having you on the board here at the bank and heading up some of our IT departments, that we could keep your father under control.”
“That’s a myth,” Ralston snorted. “Keeping Stedman Hyde-Pierson under control, that is.”
“I know!” Croft burst out. He started shaking the golf club.
Moments later, Croft took a good whack at the golf ball and sent it pinging all over the office. It glanced off a window, struck the desktop, and then came right at Ralston. Without any hesitation, Ralston raised his hand and caught the ball in his hand. It stung like hell, but it made his point. He was not going to be intimidated, and he expected better from Croft.
Croft lowered the golf club and raised his eyebrows. “Nice catch.”
“Look.” Ralston tossed the ball lightly back onto the green. “I’m not a fan of my father either.”
“He was in here the other day threatening Parker Halsey!” Croft shook his head in obvious disgust. “He told Parker that men who disagreed with him might find themselves blown up in their cars. Or something to that effect anyway.”
“I know.” Ralston did know. Sort of. “My cousin Kayla overheard the conversation. She was following my father and eavesdropping to see what he was up to. We’ve been trying to figure out what’s really going on, Mr. Croft.” Now it was time to make a play. Ralston took a few steps closer, keeping his stance casual. “Have you ever had any dealings with the local Russian Bratva here in Boston?”
The way Croft’s expression shuttered told Ralston all he needed to know. Moving toward Croft’s desk, Ralston helped himself to the comfy chair. He folded his hands over his midsection and gestured to the seat on the other side. “You might as well have a seat and chat with me. Trying to play dumb or keep things a secret at this point will only serve to get you in deeper than you already are.”
“It was supposed to be easy money,” Croft moaned. He trudged over to the chair and sank down into the leather. “Your father came to us years ago with the notion of laundering money.”
No matter how many times Ralston heard rich men admit to completely boneheaded schemes to make extra money, he was continually floored by the fact that they never thought that there would be a price. Ralston tried to keep in mind that Croft was not the first executive to do something so fundamentally stupid. Nor would he be the last.
Ralston cleared his throat and tried to choose his words carefully. “So, this bank was essentially hiding Bratva funds for a period of time. The money came in here, and then what? It got shipped to accounts in Russia?”
“Yes.”
“Makes sense,” Ralston mused. “Then what happened?”
“Your father happened.” Croft’s irritation resurfaced with a vengeance. He flung his hands into the air. “I caught him using the wire transfer options to wire money from non-Bratva accounts to the Russian banks!”
Ralston sighed. “A Bratva soldier told one of my associates the other day that Sokolov—the Bratva leader here in Boston—is so skilled that he can take money right out of someone’s account without them even realizing it until it was too late.”
“Because your father was doing it for him!” Croft snarled. He flung himself to his feet and started gesticulating wildly as he walked in dizzying circles around the desk. “It was only a few times at first. This is a big bank! The Italians bank here. The Irish bank here. There are lots of criminal enterprises in this city that appreciate a huge bank that can turn over millions at a time without batting an eyelash.”
“So, basically, my father was stealing money from these other people at the behest of the Bratva leader, Sokolov,” Ralston said for clarification purposes. He needed to make sure he had this all right the first time. “How long was that going on before you caught him?”
“I don’t know.” Croft put his hands over his face. “Oh my God! The threats,” Croft moaned. “Stedman threatened to take us all to the police. He told us that we were getting paid and couldn’t we just be happy since nobody was going to go to the authorities and risk an audit. ‘That’s the bonus of stealing from criminals,’ he said.”
Ralston chuckled. From a strictly monetary standpoint, it was a brilliant plan for exactly that reason. A criminal organization of any kind would be foolish to go whining to the feds about bank theft. It would literally open all of their accounts to a federal investigation.
“I thought it was over,” Croft admitted. “All of those organizations took their business elsewhere. We lost millions in accounts, but I didn’t care by then. None of us did. We were just too glad to have it over!”
Ralston remained silent. There was no need to prompt Croft. It was obvious that it hadn’t been over.
“Your father used the banking software to wire money from wherever he wanted. He would instigate payments from other banks, run the money through our bank, and then send it Russia! It was blatant fraud!”
“Ah,” Ralston said with understanding. “And that’s where the Bratva began to get uneasy?”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“What?” Ralston frowned. “You’re fearing threats from the Bratva themselves, aren’t you?”
“No. It’s just your father.” Croft seemed very certain. “To be honest, I’ve never heard of any contact within the Bratva other than your father. I know the leader is a man named Sokolov, but we’ve never met him or had any occasion to meet with his underlings. It was all your father.”
That took Ralston by surprise. That was one of the reasons he’d come to Croft. He wanted names within the Russian organization. He wanted some ironclad mob thug to tie his father’s name to. There had to be a way to build a case against Stedman Hyde-Pierson without bringing the whole bank down too.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to this bank?” Ralston muttered to Croft. “Making money is one thing, but what you’re describing is greed, plain and simple.”
“I know!” Croft said irritably.
Croft turned to point at Ralston. He lifted his hand, but at that moment, the window on the street side of the building shattered. The office was swept by a whirlwind as the pressure of the weather outside swept into the room. Papers spun wildly off the desk, and a few books toppled off the shelves. But in all of the chaos, Ralston suddenly realized that Croft was sinking slowly to the ground.
The older man held his hand over his chest. Blood bloomed against the fine tweed of his suit jacket and the cotton lawn of his dress shirt. Ralston blinked once before instinct took over and he hit the ground. With his belly on the floor, Ralston pulled out his phone and dialed 911.
The office doors burst open. “What’s going on in here?” Dara shouted over the roaring wind.
“There’s been an accident!” Ralston called back. “Get back to your desk and call security. Now!”
Ralston was busy on the phone with the 911 operator, but he knew it was too late. He army crawled over to Croft, but the man’s sightless eyes were staring up at the ceiling. The bullet had pierced the center of his chest, just to the left. It was a perfect shot that had likely gone right to his heart. He was still warm, but when Ralston checked his pulse, he could not find one. Croft was dead.
Rolling back over toward the door, Ralston slipped back out into the hallway and the safety of Dara’s desk. He closed the bank president’s door and wondered if this was just the beginning of someone’s attempt to silence all of the players in this ridiculous game.
Chapter Eight
“I’m telling you, this is a bad idea,” Ava told Analise.
Analise looked askance at the woman who was Ralston’s mother. Supposedly. Not that Analise really doubted it, but Ava didn’t look like anyone’s mother. The petite blonde had a fantastic body for a woman old enough to have a son in his late twenties. She had to be fifty and looked no older than her mid-thirties. She was beautiful, stylish, and very much in charge wherever she seemed
to go and no matter who else was in the vicinity. Even Nash seemed to defer to Ava’s wishes. It was very disconcerting.
Analise cleared her throat as she listened to someone unlock the deadbolt on the other side of the door. “I don’t know why it would be a bad idea. Someone has to find out what that letter says so we can see if it helps our cause.”
“Whatever that might be,” Ava muttered. “Sometimes I feel like we’re all just wandering around in the dark, banging our heads into the walls and occasionally finding something useful, but having no idea how it fits into the overall picture.”
Analise wasn’t about to admit that she had thought the same thing plenty of times since this whole debacle had started. So, when the door swung open, Analise pasted a big smile on her face and prepared to kiss ass if she needed to.
Unfortunately, it was her coworker and fellow ex-marine Quinten on the other side of that door. He frowned down at her. “What’s with the goofy grin?”
Ava snorted, then she tossed her head and looked to Quinten. “Tell Francesca we need to talk to her please.”
“Come on in.” Quinten stood aside to let them pass. “She’s in the living room.” Then he looked pointedly at Analise. “You can come back to where I have the surveillance stuff set up if you want.”
“Actually, I need to talk to Francesca,” Analise informed him.
The complete look of mystification did not make her feel any better. Quinten scratched the back of his neck and made a face. “Why?”
“Because I just do, all right?” Analise was feeling defensive, and it made her tone come out sounding huffy.
“Sheesh!” A tiny woman appeared in the doorway.
There was no doubt in Analise’s mind that this was Francesca. She looked to be in her late thirties to early forties, but as with Ava, it was difficult to tell. She was dressed in formfitting yoga pants, and her waist-length red hair swung prettily around her shoulders. Her eyes were even green. She was the prettiest woman that Analise had ever seen, and the other Hyde-Pierson women were no Medusas either.
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