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“You know, I always thought it was interesting how your family business just kept getting bigger. Even during the Prohibition, your brand turned bourbon into a medicinal practice. The only bourbon brand to actually grow during a time when liquor was outlawed. Some people might think it was just smart business, but well...” He smiles to himself.

“It doesn’t matter the political climate or the state of the economy, Foxx Bourbon just keeps growing.

I’m guessing your net worth is even more than what an internet search might show. ”

He isn’t wrong, but I want to know what he’s getting at.

“Griz, your father, and maybe even further back than that, made some concessions. Interesting company you’ve all kept over the years...” He pauses to read my reaction.

I squeeze my hand at my side again, pulsing my fingers into a fist.

“A jeweler, an architect, a U.S. Marshall.” Brow furrowing, he feigns forgetfulness. “I wonder what kinds of favors you’ve all done for each other over the years. I doubt much of what Griz had to do or what you’ve done is all that different from what’s landed me here.”

It doesn’t matter to me if he views it that way. Wheeler Finch only ever looks out for himself. And greed finally caught up with him. “I doubt anyone whose horse was drugged and killed, or whose livelihood you fucked with, would agree.” I cross my arms and grit out, “Get to your point.”

He smiles to himself, clearly pleased that he’s riled me up. The truth is, information is dangerous. And he suddenly has a lot of time on his hands. It’s an opportunity to be paying too close attention.

“There’s a lot I’m learning these days. People in Fiasco over the years finding themselves in a watery grave or disappearing altogether.

It’s quite compelling, really. Switcher disappearing the same night as Prestley Timkins’s husband—” He tilts his head to the side.

“Was that a bender for you, or just an average Friday night?”

I’ve underestimated him. Again. But I stand quietly and let him spout off what he knows.

He waves at the air in front of him, sarcasm lacing his body language and tone.

“You know my associates...they have all kinds of things they’ve found on you and your friends.

That jeweler and his old man go way back with your family.

” He pauses before he adds, “And a pretty blonde architect with worldwide businesses that rank higher on the Fortune 500 than any other in that field.”

I grind my jaw, suppressing the gut punch I feel at hearing this. He shouldn’t know or recognize Julian or Seraphine, never mind have any awareness of their connection to my family.

“What does any of this have to do with what you want? I’m about done with listening to you now.”

“I need you to get my daughter to cooperate. I need access to my funds, and I need people paid off until I’m out of here.

” He leans his elbows on the table, coming close enough for me to grab him and slam his face into the metal beneath him if I loosened the reins on my control.

“If you can do that, then proof that you’re more than just a Kentucky bourbon boy will stay between us.

And your associates won’t have to worry about me selling their information and locations to a variety of whom I can assume might be interested parties. ”

The threat is enough to swallow the urge to tell him to go fuck himself. As much as I’d like to hear the cartilage of his nose crunch and inflict a small amount of pain in this moment, he needs to believe he has the upper hand.

“Ah, and there’s one more thing...” He cups his hand below his chin, making a show of trying to remember. “Yes, that’s right. It seems as though a little town not on any maps exists in Montana—beautiful state, I hear. Apparently, people come back from the dead there.”

“Fuck,” I breathe out and rub my hand behind my neck. This motherfucker. I grit my teeth to keep from saying anything that’ll tip my hand.

It’s enough to push me over the edge, my chest tightening and rage igniting within me. I’m not going to play games and, in fact, the only thing his veiled threats are doing is reinforcing what I’ve already set into motion.

There’s one thing Wheeler hasn’t factored into all of this. It’s the one flaw to his somewhat desperate attempt to come out of this in one piece and not locked away behind bars. I may have underestimated him, but he’s wildly underestimated his daughter.

Hadley is going to do the one thing that I bargained for her to have autonomy over all those years ago.

It’ll be a gamble. Castling, if this were a chess game.

And regardless of the deal I made with him, if we play this smart, then the fallout will be minimal.

A shift in the plan, but with the same players.

Wheeler hasn’t considered that his greatest mistake isn’t appointing her as executor of his estate and business, but how her assets could become shared assets with her spouse. Because until now, Hadley hasn’t had a spouse for him to consider.

Turning on my heel, I wave off Jimmy as I hustle down the front stairs, my mind made up.

I’m going to marry Hadley Finch.