Page 41 of Artifice (Pros and Cons Mysteries #4)

O live stayed outside with Tevin.

His gaze followed Simon as he departed. “Who do you think that guy is?”

She twisted her lips as she thought about it. “I’m not sure. CIA? FBI? DEA?”

“So you think he works for the government?”

She shrugged. “He could work for another private contractor for all I know. But my gut tells me it’s the government.”

Olive filled him in on everything that had happened, and he listened carefully to every word. He was probably already making a mental spreadsheet of tonight’s events so they could keep track of them.

“I don’t like this, Olive. I don’t like people already knowing you’re not really Liv Bettencourt.”

He didn’t have to explain—she felt the same way. “I don’t either. But I didn’t have much choice.”

“Because Simon forced your hand.” His words contained a bitter edge.

Olive already knew Tevin didn’t like the man. She couldn’t blame him.

There was a part of Olive that didn’t like Simon very much either.

But did Olive detect a slight hint of jealousy in Tevin’s words? He had walked in on them during a moment that might have looked almost like an embrace.

And Tevin had always been protective of her, almost like a brother.

Olive took a breath, needing to change the subject for a moment. “How about you? Did you find out anything?”

“I called in the anonymous tip to the cops, just like we talked about. The police showed up and were searching the area around the lighthouse when I left.”

“Good. I feel better about that. I don’t know if Ms. Strickland has a family or not. But the people who loved her deserve to know.”

Tevin nodded, something of the tightness fading from his gaze. “I agree. And I got some information back on who owns that warehouse where we saw Principal Denarau.”

“And?” Olive held her breath as she waited for his answer.

“You’re not going to like this. And it makes me think that maybe Simon is telling the truth.”

“That warehouse where you spotted Denarau?” Tevin continued. “It’s owned by a shell company called Harborside Logistics.”

Shell company? Olive knew what that meant. “Let me guess—recently formed, minimal paper trail.”

“Formed three years ago, same time Lighthouse Harbor transitioned from state facility to private institution. But here’s where it gets interesting. Harborside Logistics is a subsidiary of Meridian Holdings, which is itself owned by Westridge Enterprises.”

Olive straightened. “What’s Westridge Enterprises?”

“It’s a company owned by Dr. Wells.”

Realization spread through her. “Isn’t that interesting . . .”

“Westridge Enterprises is primarily a real estate portfolio company with ownership stakes in medical research facilities across three states.”

“So Wells is connected to the warehouse.” She hadn’t expected that.

“I’m not done,” Tevin cut in. “I pulled the incorporation documents for Westridge Enterprises. On paper, it’s owned by a consortium of investors. But I found a lawsuit from five years ago—a contract dispute where financial records were submitted to discovery.”

“And?”

“According to banking records submitted in that case, 90 percent of Westridge Enterprises’ startup capital came from accounts traced back to Anton Karakov.”

Olive went still. “Karakov? The same Karakov who?—”

“Yeah. That one.” Tevin’s voice dropped lower.

“The Russian-American ‘businessman’ with ties to organized crime in three countries. Officially, he runs legitimate import-export operations on the East Coast. Unofficially, he’s been investigated for human trafficking, drug distribution, and at least two suspected murders—though nothing’s ever stuck. ”

Olive pinched the bridge of her nose.

This case had just escalated from institutional abuse to something far more dangerous.

“Why would someone like Karakov be interested in a reform school in Maine?” Olive murmured.

“That’s where things get really disturbing,” Tevin said. “Karakov’s legitimate businesses include a pharmaceutical investment group called Novaya Zaria. It specializes in ‘experimental therapeutics.’”

“The supplements . . .”

“Exactly. Three months ago, Karakov’s pharmaceutical arm filed seventeen new patents for—you’re going to love this—‘neurochemical compliance formulations.’ The patent applications describe compounds that, and I quote, ‘enhance subject suggestibility and memory malleability while reducing resistance behaviors.’”

Olive felt cold. “They’re using these kids as test subjects.”

“They’re developing behavior-controlling drugs using vulnerable teenagers,” Tevin confirmed grimly. “Based on those patents, they’re getting results. One application mentions ‘successful human trials conducted over a continuous thirty-month period.’”

“The entire time Lighthouse Harbor has been private.” Olive’s mind raced ahead.

“But Olive, there’s something else. The judge who granted Lighthouse Harbor’s privatization? Judge Martin Wells.”

“As in?—”

“Dr. Victor Wells’ brother. This goes deeper than we thought.”

Olive glanced in the distance toward the looming silhouette of Lighthouse Harbor. Somewhere in that maze of Victorian architecture and underground tunnels lay answers—and possibly Colin Andrews and Henry Potts.

But now she understood why they had disappeared.

They’d stumbled onto a secret worth killing for.

“Tevin, we need backup. Karakov isn’t someone we can handle alone.”

“Already called Rex. He’s sending a team, but they won’t be here until tomorrow afternoon. Until then?—”

“Until then, we keep digging,” Olive finished. “And we stay alive. Keep our heads down.”

“Exactly.”

Olive shook her head as she tried to comprehend everything Tevin had just told her.

“So not only is something shady going on at the school—shady enough that maybe the kids are being drugged and something is being secretly transported using the tunnels and chambers beneath the school. But this also somehow has ties with organized crime?”

“That’s what it appears. I already sent Rex the report so he could look into it. And Rex is also investigating who Simon could be, using some of his contacts to find information. Hopefully we’ll hear back from him soon.”

Olive glanced around her, the hair on her neck rising.

There was that feeling again. The feeling she was being watched.

As she scanned her surroundings, she saw nothing and no one.

But she wasn’t paranoid. She knew she wasn’t.

Who exactly was out there?