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Laurent didn’t return from his phone call, and after a few minutes of hiding behind the dumpster listening to Gisèle comfort Samira, I worked up my courage to furtively slip back inside.

The club was more crowded now, every surface turned into a dance floor where euphoric patrons gyrated in the spinning lights.

I threaded my way through the throng to our table and scooted behind the table to grab my purse.

I pulled up short. Tyson was sitting on the banquette hidden by the crush of dancers, calmly nursing a Coors Light.

He looked up at me, his face unreadable, obscured by shadow.

Unsure what to do, I remained still as I weighed my options, as if he were a wild animal that might attack if I made any sudden movements.

“Happy birthday,” I said finally. It had been nearly midnight when we arrived, so I figured it had to be tomorrow now.

He didn’t smile, but raised his beer to me in salutation, which was something.

“I’ve just gotta get my purse,” I said, reaching behind him to grab it.

“I’m paying you to find out who’s blackmailing me, not to fuck my butler,” he said in a low voice as I leaned past him.

I recoiled, steadying myself on the edge of the table behind me. “Excuse me?”

“I said I’m paying you to—”

“I heard you,” I snapped. The champagne and hash that had lifted my spirits minutes ago now stoked the fires of my fury, loosening my tongue. “But who I choose to fuck is none of your business. And a newspaper clipping is not blackmail.”

“What’s this?” he asked, pulling a folded envelope from his back pocket and shoving it into my hand.

I sat next to him with a sigh. He smelled like a nauseating combination of patchouli and garlic, and I leaned away from him to unfold the envelope.

Inside was a single sheet of plain printer paper with a short paragraph printed in Times New Roman.

I pulled my phone from my purse and activated my flashlight to read:

E500K in unmarked bills in exchange for what I know. Tomorrow. 5pm. Amis in Grand Cul-de-Sac. Come alone.

“Keep it,” Tyson said. “I have it memorized.”

I was nearly certain it was Allison who’d leaked the environmental report, but I couldn’t see how blackmailing her business partner for half a million euros could help her cause, when she was in the hole eighty million.

Unless maybe her next payment was five hundred thousand?

Regardless, I was not prepared to have that conversation right now at two in the morning after drinking all night. I folded the note into my purse.

“Where did you find it?” I asked.

“It was left under the windshield of my car while I was at the gym today.”

“And you’re just now mentioning it?”

His jaw clenched. “I have other things on my plate, Audrey.”

“There were no cameras in the area?”

He shook his head.

“Well, now you know it’s not me,” I said. “And once we review the footage from the house, we can eliminate anyone else that was there while you were at the gym.”

“You were the only one at Le Rêve at the time the note was left. Asleep, by the pool.” He crossed his arms. “Remind me again what I’m paying you for.”

I rounded on him. “So don’t fucking pay me, Tyson!” This abuse simply wasn’t worth it. “Now that you know I’m not involved, let me go home.”

“No,” he said flatly. “I don’t trust you.”

“We’re on the same side! Stop being so fucking paranoid!”

The moment the word came out of my mouth, I wanted to take it back, but it was too late.

“Paranoid?” he demanded.

I held my ground. “Are you not?”

His eyes bored holes in me. “Paranoia is unjustified. I run a multi-billion-dollar company that everyone either wants a piece of or wants to fail. I’m being blackmailed, and someone inside my company is leaking confidential documents. Would you call my concern unjustified?”

I felt suddenly queasy. I was in no position to go toe-to-toe with Tyson tonight. I hadn’t even expected to see him. If I’d known he’d be here, I wouldn’t have allowed myself to let loose the way I had. But I should have known. I should’ve been smarter.

I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to shut out the booming bass and rotating lights. The world tilted, and my eyes flew open as I felt a wave of nausea.

He shook his head. “You’re trashed.”

“I’m not,” I protested, focusing on the corner of the table to keep the nausea at bay. I was definitely trashed, and his acrid scent wasn’t helping. “But yes, I was having fun. Until you showed up.”

“By all means, don’t let me interrupt your all-expenses-paid vacation,” he spat, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You smell like shit,” I said as I stood, shouldering my purse, and walked away from him before I could say anything else I would regret.

Tyson had always been sharp-tongued, had always had a temper. But he’d never been spiteful before, never malicious. Now it was as though he believed the whole world was conspiring against him, and he wanted to make everyone bleed. Especially me.

I threaded my way through the throng, scanning the room for Laurent. I didn’t see him, but it was just as well.

Outside, the night was quiet after the booming bass, and I immediately felt less dizzy with the breeze off the water cooling my skin, though no less stupid for allowing myself to get swept away tonight.

I followed the sidewalk along the harbor to the line of taxis waiting in the street and climbed into the first available cab. “Le Rêve,” I told the driver.

“One hundred euro,” the man said.

“Seriously?” I asked, taken aback. “It’s five minutes away.”

“Is going rate,” the man said. “All driver tell you same.”

I was too tired to argue. “Okay,” I said, resigned.

There was a tap on the partially open window, and I looked over to see Cody outside. “Can I join?”

I nodded, relieved I wouldn’t have to foot the exorbitant bill for the taxi, and he opened the door and slid in next to me. “Where’s Jennifer?” I asked.

“She left with Allison an hour ago.”

I tilted my face toward the air rushing through my window as we turned up the hill that led out of town.

“Did my brother scare you off?” Cody asked.

I nodded. “What happened to him?”

“I think you know what happened to him,” he said meaningfully.

“But you went through worse and you’re not a dick.”

He rested his head against the cracked pleather seatback. “I don’t have the emptiness inside that he does.”

“How do you stand him, day in and day out?”

“I didn’t have a choice at first. Not a lot of companies hire felons for high-level jobs. Now…I guess I feel a responsibility to the company. And there’s an element of timing involved if I want to exit.”

I looked over at him. “I’m so sorry, Cody.”

“Don’t be.”

“I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll never forgive myself for what you went through because of me.”

“No,” he said. “Don’t do that. You were careful, you would never have been caught. It was Ian’s fault. He was the one that turned mein.”

I lowered my voice. “You heard about his foot?”

He nodded, eyeing me. “I thought it was awfully coincidental Tyson invited you down right after it washed up.”

“Did he tell you why he invited me down?” I asked.

“He wouldn’t talk about it.”

I took a breath. I knew I was playing with fire by telling him, but it was time I made sure Cody was on my side. “Someone sent him the newspaper article about it,” I whispered. “He wanted me to find out who.”

He furrowed his brow. “And he didn’t think this should involve me, too?”

“He wasn’t sure it wasn’t you.”

“Why the hell would I—”

“I know. He accused me of it as well, if it makes you feel any better. And I think you deserve to know what’s going on. Whoever it is, they’re now demanding half a million to show their hand.”

I pulled the note from my purse and handed it to him. His face darkened as he scanned it. “Goddammit,” he said.

I tucked the note back into my bag as the taxi pulled through the gates of Le Rêve and Cody handed the cabbie a wad of cash. “You’ll be here tomorrow?” he asked as we climbed out of the car. “It would be good for the three of us to sit down, make sure we’re all on the same page.”

As much as it pained me to be in the same room with Tyson, I knew he was right. “I’ll be here if you want me to be,” I promised.

I bade Cody good night in the foyer, then padded across the smooth floor to my room, a tornado of apprehension churning inside me. Tyson was going to lose his shit when he found out I’d told Cody about the blackmail.

I collapsed on my bed and took out my phone, again hitting Download on the images of the arrest report Rosa had sent. Finally the pictures started to populate, one by one.

I zoomed in on the pages of Cody’s arrest report, looking for some indication of the evidence that had been turned in. I found it in the handwritten notes toward the bottom of the second page:

Digital copy of video dated 8/2 included in evidence shows fraudulent program devised and run by suspect.

I pulled up my calendar app and scrolled back eleven years. August the second was a Sunday, the day after I caught Tyson cheating on me Saturday night. The day after he beat the shit out of Cody for not covering for him.

Tyson had played it so well, placing the blame for Cody’s arrest on Ian. We’d both believed it, and I knew Cody did still, or there was no way in hell he’d be working for Tyson. But it was a lie. Ian hadn’t been the one to turn Cody in, Tyson had.

If Cody found out, he might very well betray his brother the same way Tyson had him.

I didn’t have hard evidence of the falsified environmental reports Tyson had ordered, but Cody did, and if he discovered his own brother had been the one to send him to jail all those years ago, there would be nothing stopping him from turning those documents over to the authorities, which would destroy De-Sal.

I felt a surge of triumph, realizing that this knowledge gave me the upper hand.

It was time to fight fire with fire, before Tyson made good on any of his threats toward me.

And I needed to do it now, while I was still fortified by rancor and champagne, before I lost my nerve.

I didn’t want to engage with Tyson, didn’t want to give him the chance to respond.

No, I wanted to have the last word tonight.

Let him sleep on it, contemplate what damage I could inflict.

I was practically giddy as the printer in my room churned out the pages.

I didn’t need to leave a note with the arrest report, nor did I need to make any threats; Tyson’s imagination would do the work, just as it had with the news article about Ian’s foot.

All I had to do was provide the information, folded neatly and left on his pillow.

Sweet dreams, asshole.