Page 39 of Mad Rivals (The Bradley Legacy #1)

How Do I Get In

I can’t let it go.

Mick was up to something on Friday, but I don’t know what.

It’s a ten-minute drive from my place, and I decide to head back on Saturday morning with Kennedy since she’s spending the weekend with me.

In the daylight, everything looks…well, pretty much the same. It looks like a warehouse, minus Mick standing out front.

I want to get back in there. I’m not sure what made me leave so easily last night other than the fact that Mick said there was flooring in here, and that’s pretty much all I saw as we walked the aisles and aisles filled with various tiles, hardwood, carpeting, padding, foam, and stone.

I didn’t look for another door. I didn’t look for something that could indicate a separate area. But the more I thought about it as I didn’t sleep at all last night, the stranger it became.

All those people dressed up in suits and dresses who kept walking by while we spoke with Mick outside.

A dressy couple waiting around the corner when we walked back to the car.

None of it added up. There are enough fancy places around here, I suppose, but I got the distinct impression they were waiting for me to leave.

The door is locked, and there’s no getting in.

But I decide to play a little game.

I text my father.

Me: I’m at the warehouse in the West Loop. I have a carload of extra tiles I’ve been storing at my place. How do I get in to drop them off?

Rather than text me back like a normal person, my phone rings a moment later.

“Hey,” I answer.

“How do you know about the warehouse?” he demands. No hey, son , or other similar salutation.

“I ran into Mick last night when I was out in the West Loop,” I lie. If he can hide things, so can I.

“Hm,” he grunts.

“So…how do I get in to unload all these tiles?”

“I thought you were in San Diego.”

“I was. I have an SCS meeting on Monday, so I’m back for a few days.” And, you know, I was checking out the warehouses.

It’s a solid enough excuse that he buys it.

“Mick is driving me to a meeting of my own this morning. We won’t be by to let you in until this afternoon at the earliest. Take your tiles and clear out.”

Take your tiles and clear out ?

Nah. I’ll come up with some other way to get in.

“I can wait,” I say smoothly.

I walk near the door and find a scanner that looks to be a facial recognition system of some kind.

I give it a try, though I highly doubt I’m in the system since my dad appears to be trying to keep me out.

But that’s the question.

Why would he be keeping me out?

If it’s just a warehouse storing flooring as he said it is…why would he care if I went into it?

My father sighs on the other end of the line .

“Why don’t you want me in there?” I ask quietly. I glance up and lock eyes with Kennedy, who looks like she’s waiting on the edge of her seat for the answer.

So am I.

“Because we can’t just accept whatever load you have, Madden. That’s not how it works. We need someone there to take stock of what you have, inventory it, and put it in the right aisle.”

I grit my teeth together. I guess that makes good enough sense. Still, it feels like there’s some reason he’s keeping me out, and I wish I would’ve approached this differently. Maybe if I would’ve told him I needed some flooring for a project, I could’ve gotten in that way.

Somehow I doubt it.

So how do I get access to this place?

The two of us load back into my car, and we head back to my place. The answer doesn’t hit me until I get back home and start unloading the dishwasher, where I see all of the dishes my brother used while he was staying here.

“That’s it!” I say, snapping my fingers.

Kennedy is at the kitchen table, and she looks confused at my outburst. “What’s it?”

“Deepfake!” I feel like this could actually work, and that sentiment is clear in my enthusiasm.

“Huh?”

“My brother—when he was here, he said he got into some trouble. Some pictures were taken of him that made it look a certain way, but he said his publicist was going to try to cover it with a deepfake.”

“A deepfake? What’s that?” she asks.

“It’s like an AI-generated photo or video. I have access to the security footage at Bradley Group, so we could find someone who can do this, give them different angles of my father’s face, and access the facial recognition software that way. ”

She tilts her head as she considers the idea, but then she has a question I hadn’t really considered. “What if you get caught?”

I twist my lips, but I realize the answer to that pretty quickly. “So what? If my father is doing something shady, and he’s handing this company over to me within the next few years, don’t I deserve to know what’s going on?”

She nods. “Yeah, you do. I just don’t want you to have to do something illegal to figure out what’s going on.”

“Truth be told, I don’t know if it’s illegal.”

“Do you even know someone who could do something like that?” she asks.

I shake my head. “No. But my brother does.”

It’s pitting one family member against another. I realize this. I already know what my father would say about the family legacy. But Dex doesn’t have to know what I need this for, and it’s the pressure of that legacy leading me to do this in the first place.

I was already teetering on the edge of not wanting this company after retirement. Kennedy started to change my mind.

But I flat-out refuse to get tangled up in illegal activities because my father is hiding whatever he’s doing and using the business as a cover-up.

And I’m already convinced that it all starts with whatever is in that warehouse.

“Then make the call,” she says.

I don’t waste another second. I dial Dex, and he answers right away.

“What’s up, OG?” he answers.

He’s always called me that since I’m the original son, and it stuck.

“Hey, Dex. I need a favor.”

“Anything for the bro who let me lay low in Chicago for a month.”

“When you said it’d be a week,” I say, rolling my eyes even though he can’t see me.

“Yeah, yeah. What do you need? ”

“First, a question. Did your publicist ever do that deepfake thing you told me about?”

“Yeah, man. He got fake photos up that painted me in a much better light. Nobody knew the difference,” he says.

Okay, so there may be ethical issues with that, but I refrain from judging aloud since I have my own use for this. “Can you put me in touch with whoever did the deepfake for you?”

“Nah, man, no can do. My publicist didn’t tell me who it was that did it.”

“Well can’t you find out?”

“What for?” he challenges.

I don’t particularly want to let him in on what I’m up to. “I want to manipulate some videos, that’s all.”

He sighs as if he knows I’m keeping part of the story to myself. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, man,” I say, and I hang up before he can ask for more.

In the meantime, I start gathering some video footage of my father. Kennedy has her own work to do, and she’s sitting at the kitchen table lost in thought when I walk behind her…and I see what she’s working on.

I shouldn’t look, but I do.

Now I have insider information about what project she’s bidding on…and I’m not exactly sure what to do with it since I, too, am bidding on it, and I have a better chance of winning it since the client plays on the same team as me.

Fuck.

I don’t get the chance to talk to her about it because Dex’s text comes through with the deepfake guy’s info. He prefers to be contacted via email, and Dex tells me exactly what he needs.

I get right to work. I set up a new email address to cover my tracks and send in my request complete with the video footage. And then I wait .

I hear back from the guy about an hour later letting me know he got my request and it’ll take around twenty-four hours…and it’ll cost me, of course.

I send in the payment, and then I wait.