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Axel sighs again and I’m quickly beginning to hate the sound.

He turns again and clicks on the keyboard a few more times.

Another picture pops up.

“Who is that?” I mutter, staring at the image and trying to piece together who the man standing next to my father and my uncle Lakeland might be.

“That’s Benjamin Brigham.” He points to the screen with a pen-sized laser pointer that somehow materializes in his hand. “He owns the island you just saw pictures of. There are rumors on the dark web about the shit that goes on there. No electronics, no rules. Well, except one. What happens on Isla Cara stays on Isla Cara.”

I stare at the screen. I remember Brigham’s name coming up back when I’d just started digging into this business.

“Okay, so my fatherknowssomeone in some sick shit. So? Please get to theproof, Axel,” I snap.

“You can’t possibly be that naive. Your father’s deep into the funding for this. He’s washing money for Brigham and all the other fuckers who like to play over there. Forget the Black Market, they’ve created the Green Market—and only these people are allowed in.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

“Yes,” Axel presses. “Your father has been tied up with Brigham for the last decade, but it wasn’t until two years ago that he got into the trade himself—brokering deals with the Saudis and the Yakuza over in Japan and washing them through any one of his shell companies.”

Window after window appears on the various screens, and I’m only barely able to understand what I’m looking at.

Shipping manifests with my father’s signature.

Decrypted chat transcripts from what I can only assume is the dark web.

Crypto wallets, millions in Bitcoin, transaction after transaction after transaction.

The words and images blur on the screen, and like I’ve been hit on the head, my brain starts to spin.

“Stop,” I say, but I can barely hear my words over the roaring between my ears.

Axel turns to me, and he finally drops the bored, slightly annoyed expression he’s been wearing for the last half hour I’ve been here.

His lips move and he stands, taking a step toward me, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.

I can’t hear.

I can’t think.

I can’t fucking process this.

“Stop,” I try to say again, this time feeling the words vibrate against my vocal cords. “I get it.”

I look away from Axel and back to the screen, focusing on the slightly blurry picture of people congregating on the island’s shore. Framed to the side, I see my father’s silver-streaked hair, his head thrown back in laughter.

As if he were having the time of his life.

“When were these taken?” I ask.

Axel doesn’t respond, and I can feel his hesitation in the air like a physical thing.

“When were these taken?” I repeat, adding more steel to my tone.

Another pause, but then he says, “Right after the shit with Samuels.”

His words are flat, and I blink at his admitting to knowing about my sin…but then again, why wouldn’t he know? Even though I never told him what I did, he still managed to figure everything out.

“By the way, the FBI is, or I guess,was, only looking into the racketeering charges. I think they’re purposefully looking the other way on this stuff,” he says.