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Pulled aside for a pat-down? Shut the fuck up.

Handcuffed and brought to an interrogation by the Feds soon after knocking someone off? Most certainly, shut the fuck up.

I catch myself when my foot starts to bounce.

You’ll get out of this, one way or the other.

I take in a deep breath but regret the motion when the stale, moldy smell assaults my nostrils.

“So first, you’re not in any trouble,” McAdams says. “Right now.”

I tilt my chin down at that. I want to ask more questions, but….

“And I’m sorry for the theatrics out there. I wanted to make sure we got ya here in one piece, though.” McAdams smiles, and I know what he’s trying to do—trying to get me to let my guard down—but what the fuck does that even mean?

“I’m free to go then?” I say, my voice a deep rasp.

McAdams winces.

“Let me get square on a few things first. I don’t think you wanna run off just yet.”

The silence stretches on as McAdams looks down at his notepad.

“All right, so we’ve brought you here today because we have some questions about Stratos.”

I blink. Stratos?

“That’s your father’s business, right? I heard you work there, too.” He looks down at his notepad, squinting as if trying to find the information.

Stratos. He’s not asking about the banker?

A pinch of relief washes over me at that, but then it’s quickly followed by dread.

“Anyway, I really only wanted to ask you a few questions. Specifically, I wanted to see if you had knowledge about your father, Stratos, and a man named Benjamin Brigham.” He looks up from the notepad, pinning me with his gaze.

“Ring a bell?” he asks.

I meet him with silence. Because the namedoesring a bell—an alarm bell. The name showed up a few times in the files I got from Axel weeks ago.

I keep my attention steady on McAdams, so it’s easy to spot when he decides to drop the nice guy act.

With another sigh, he leans back in his chair and flips through some pages in his file.

“Jaxon Samuels.”

And there it is.

Shit.

I blink at the agent and try to hide the fact that I’m flipping my shit inside.

“I can see you’re not going to be…forthcoming at this time, but let me help you gain some clarity.”

He leans forward, clasping his hands over the papers.

“On Saturday, October 27th, Jaxon Samuels was reported missing by his mother. Two days later, we found his car had driven off the bridge over in Urbana.”

He tilts his head to the side, gauging my reaction.