“That was fast.”
“He claims Apex Holdings was not his operation.”
I said nothing.
Agent Mercer continued. “He says he was a broker. A handler. Not the architect.”
I turned slowly toward my desk.
On it sat a framed photo of my company’s first office.
Three desks.
Bad lighting.
Dollar-store coffee maker.
No family pictures.
Never family.
“People under arrest lie,” I said.
“Yes,” Mercer replied. “They do. But sometimes they panic and tell pieces of the truth.”
“What piece did he tell?”
There was a pause.
Not long.
Long enough.
“He said your family’s conservatorship petition was only one part of a larger containment plan.”
My pulse slowed.
That was how my body handled danger.
Everything became quiet.
Precise.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means someone wanted you legally discredited before the SEC audit widened.”
“Someone besides Jamal.”
“Yes.”
I walked to my desk and opened my laptop.
