Page 31 of Liar
I lower my eyes in shame. If only it were just that.
“Ember.”
Malcolm’s soft command reluctantly draws my gaze up.
“I don’t want to have to ask you this. Believe me when I say that I thought of all other options.”
My brows tighten, but I wait for him to say more.
“The agent I’m in contact with, they’re about to close the investigation.”
“What? Why?” I can’t stop the panic from infusing my voice any more than I can halt the thought that if there’s no investigation, there’s no further reason for me to continue acting the part of a Virtue.
“There’s not enough evidence.” Malcolm sighs, carefully laying his knife and fork on either side of his plate and sitting back. “It’s been a few years now with no further developments, and his boss—or his boss’s boss, I should say—is making noises to divert the funds to a more pressing investigation.” Malcolm shakes his head solemnly. “We’re Raven’s Bluff. A small town with nothing special to offer, other than a drug ring, among thousands of other drug rings across America. A losing battle.”
“Malcolm.” I lean forward. I’ve never heard him talk like this. So defeated. So empty. So Savannah-like. “That’s not true. The Societies aren’t just in Raven’s Bluff or even Massachusetts. They’re everywhere and have the most powerful people in play. The Nobles and Virtues control governments, siphon corporate funds and own a shitload of cryptocurrency. Give them time and they’ll have more control than Congress and the President combined.”
“Honey.” Malcolm’s expression sags, staring at me like I’m a new puppy who just peed on his Persian rug. “They already are.”
“Okay, so, that’s why the FBI needs to stay involved. If the Societies are busted open—if gossip rags even get a hold of them, their secret is over. They’re exposed and vulnerable. Damion could be forced to stop his operations. If we have a chance to do that—”
“Exactly.”
That brings me up short. “You’re not giving up?”
“The opposite. I’m doing so much worse. I’m asking you to bring me proof of their violent existence.”
Dash chooses this moment to project himself into the room with a large bowl of salad. He sets it in front of me, and Malcolm and I wait in pensive silence as Dash places saucers of various salad dressings around the bowl.
“We were unsure of your vinaigrette preference,” he explains. “Marta’s provided you with a plethora.”
“Uh-huh. Thank you.” I choose blindly and dump some on my salad to speed him up. I wrinkle my nose, realizing I’d poured stinky blue cheese all over it.
“Not a problem.” Dash bows, then becomes one with the walls again.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” I say to Malcolm, picking right up where we left off.
He nods. “I realize I’m putting you in an impossible situation, but look what happened to your peer. Zeke. I’m positive Damion had something to do with it. His manipulation of power, of pitting students, teenagers, against each other, has to stop. If you can record the next challenge or punishment, if you can obtain one of the manuals or records kept in the tombs…”
I’m already shaking my head. “Their security is insane. I haven’t been granted access into any kind of records room, and if they saw me with my phone raised, I’ll be the next one in the hospital.”
“You already were.”
His quiet statement strangles any further argument from escaping my throat.
“I cannot allow it to keep happening. If I could get in there myself, risk my own body, I would do it. No other person should suffer as I did. But I’m cut off. The further they induct you, the more they push me away. They have their new Weatherby. I need you, Ember. I’m sorry, I despise saying this, but the Societies’ future victims need you, too.”
I scrunch my eyes shut, battling with my will-power. If I do this, I risk exposing myself and Malcolm to huge danger. If I don’t, Damion wins. It should be an easy decision, but Thorne’s infuriating face keeps wobbling into my mind’s eye as a stark reminder that my loyalty is in question.
“I’m not entirely convinced they had nothing to do with the Merricourt girl’s disappearance, either,” he adds.
I’m curious enough that the guilt leaks out of my expression and I open my eyes. “You think the Societies were behind her abduction?”
Last night would be an excellent argument against that assumption, but I still can’t bring myself to admit my involvement to Malcolm.
“Agent Colt doesn’t tell me much about the investigation into her kidnapping, but I get the sense it has stalled, as well. No trace of the kidnapper—or kidnappers. Savannah Merricourt can’t be sure. She doesn’t remember where she was held or how far away it was. Her memory is a blank slate. Other than severe amnesia, I can only think of one other way to silence her.”
Malcolm waits for me to fill in the blank.