Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“You don’t need to talk to me about getting my hands dirty.”
He smiled and tilted his head. “No, I don’t. That’s why I thought I could count on you.”
I stepped closer, breathing in deep. “I understand your reasoning. I won’t say I haven’t considered it myself. But if we start this war, whatever comes next will be on our heads. I’m not prepared for that.”
“But I am.”
“Then do what you have to do. I won’t be a part of it.”
“The pills are going, whether you help or not. I was hoping you’d see and understand.”
I turned my back on him. Silvano didn’t know my parents’ full story, or else he’d never think I’d back up his play. From my perspective, this was as reprehensible as it got, but then I’d done some terrible things. My reputation was exaggerated, but earned.
I’d also cut my fair share of fingers off when getting my house in order.
“I understand.” I pushed through a side gate that led toward the parking lot.
“Think about what I said,” Silvano called after. “Change is coming whether we want it to or not. I only want to get ahead!”
I waved a hand in the air and found the Rover parked by the curb. The driver pulled out and I leaned back in my seat, staring out the window.
Silvano couldn’t understand how disgusting I found his plan. Perhaps the others might go along with it—Griffin thought he was too far above this sort of dishonorable trickery, but he’d find Silvano’s reasoning solid at least, and might be willing to overlook the distasteful methods if it resulted in him gaining more power. If this war was going to happen no matter what, a smarter Oligarch might accept his position and go along with the group, if at least to show a solid front when the fighting began.
But I wasn’t smart, and I wouldn’t play the game.
I had my reasons. I squeezed my eyes shut and remembered my mother slapping me across the face once, twice, three times, cursing as she ripped the cash from my trembling hands, screaming as she counted. Not enough, not enough, never enough. It didn’t matter how many times I won, how many men I beat, how much money I brought back. Not enough, never enough.
I wasn’t enough.
But I’d be better. I’d be stronger. I didn’t have to let the ghost of my past pull me ever backwards into that beaten, broken childhood.
I’d start by making my own way.
Chapter 7
Melanie
My life was split in half.
Most of the time, I was an average student. I woke up, joked with my roommate, went to class, studied in the library, and ate at the dining hall. I made few friends, but I didn’t mind that—I’d always been alone, and anyway, Sarah was nice enough. We sat together and picked at our food most nights, at least when she wasn’t driving herself insane studying.
But the other half was shrouded in darkness and mystery. I disappeared into the stacks and the computer lab, searching my uncle’s name on every database I could find. I researched my uncle’s company, the company he inherited from my grandfather, and took extensive notes about its finances and structure, at least as much as I could find.
It was a private drug manufacturer called Integrated Medicines, or IM for short. My grandfather started it in his garage a long time ago, and my uncle took it over after my grandfather died. It stagnated for years, languishing, not doing much of anything—until three years ago.
There were new drug patents. I didn’t understand a word of them. There was a new facility up north, apparently a massive manufacturing and distribution center. Money flowed into IM’s coffers, and I had no clue why or what they were selling.
Private companies didn’t have to disclose much of anything, and their regulatory filings were slim and unhelpful.
I persisted. Two weeks passed, and I didn’t hear from Nervosa again. I began to think he’d forgotten about contacting my brother, and that was fine. Palm kept her distance, and there were no more interruptions. I wouldn’t get the introduction to my uncle, but I didn’t need it. I was his niece, after all—I could show up at his house.
I kept his address in my pocket, creased and marked from folding and unfolding it over and over again.
One night after dinner with Sarah, I sat up on the top floor of the library, poring over my notes. There had to be some connection between IM, my uncle, my mother, and my grandfather’s murder. Why did my mother run away from home after her father was killed? Why did Uncle Cedric take over the business, and why did he inherit everything? My mother had to have been in the will, and some of that fortune was rightfully hers.
Why did she pass it up?