Page 85

He chuckles, but there's no warmth in it. "You make it sound so… conspiratorial. Sometimes, success is simply a matter of preparation meeting opportunity."

"Like the opportunity that arose after the Ifrinn tragedy?"

He stills, his green eyes narrowing, assessing. I force a smile, hoping he can’t see me shudder from the chill running down my spine.

“Why do you keep bringing up the Ifrinns? They were long gone by the time my father found success.”

“Really?” I make a show of referring to past pages in my notebook. “The timing seems to suggest that their tragic demise opened up those opportunities you just mentioned. Your father's first major acquisition was the old Ifrinn shipping terminal, wasn't it? At a remarkably low price, considering its strategic location."

"Market conditions were favorable." His smile remains fixed, but his eyes have turned to green ice. "Though I have to wonder why a simple business profile requires so much… historical context."

I shift in my seat, hyper-aware of how alone I am in this office. "The public has questions, Mr. Kean. Wouldn't you rather address them directly than let speculation continue?"

The temperature in the room seems to drop. His shoulders tense, and the casual demeanor evaporates like morning mist. “What speculation? Who exactly have you been talking to, Miss Ketchum?" His voice carries an edge that makes my skin prickle.

“Oh, you know. Various sources.”

He rises from his chair, and though his movements are smooth, there's nothing casual about them now. He sits on the edge of his desk, directly in front of me. "What are they saying?”

“Ah… well…” I glance at my notes although I’m not reading them. “Just how fast you were able to take control of formerly owned Ifrinn properties. How you put others out of business.”

“Names. I want names of those who’ve been spreading these… theories."

“As a journalist, I protect my sources."

"Journalism." He spits the word like it's poison. "A puff piece on a successful family isn’t journalism. Unless you’re digging into matters that don’t concern you.”

I swallow hard, noting this is the first real suggestion from him that not all the Kean businesses are on the up and up.

"The public has a right?—”

"The public," he cuts me off, "has no rights when it comes to my family's private affairs. Now, I'll ask again, who have you been talking to?"

My heart hammers against my ribs. Ronan Kean’s mask is slipping, revealing something cold and dangerous underneath.

I do my best to appear surprised by his reaction. “Mr. Kean, you’re well respected, I assure you. You don’t need to feel threatened by?—”

“Threatened?” He laughs. “You don’t scare me.”

“You seem concerned by what others have said about you.”

“Everyone is concerned about what others say. Reputation is everything, Ms. Ketchum.”

I nod. “I can understand that. It probably was a concern that a well-respected law enforcement member was killed outside one of your establishments. That could hurt a business’s reputation. Have you felt any impact from that?”

Ronan's expression hardens. "It’s never good when a valued patron of a business is killed."

"Strange how the police ruled it a mugging when nothing was stolen. Did you know he was a detective ten years ago? He’s the one who ruled the Ifrinn fire was an accident.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate.”

I widen my eyes like I’m surprised. “Insinuate? Nothing. It’s just a strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re fishing in dangerous waters.” A less subtle threat.

“Oh… hmm. Okay. Well, you’ve established yourself over the last ten years after the Ifrinns’ demise, but their sons… they’ve never been found. Do you ever wonder what happened to them or if they’ll be back to try and restore their family businesses?”

Again, his green eyes bore into me like he’s scanning what’s in my brain. “No.”