Page 168 of Broken Lies
I tuck the document under my arm. “Thanks. That’s all I need to know.”
By the time I reach my car, I’m already dialing Riley’s number.
“Kieran?” The worry is clear in her voice as it comes through the speakers, but I don’t have time to comfort her.
“Where did you find the document?” I toss the useless evidence on the front seat before turning the car around and speeding back toward the penthouse.
There’s a pause, like she wasn’t expecting the question.
“I overheard my father talking about it before he died. I found it in a locked drawer in his study, and I…I took it. I thought it was the only way I would be able to secure your help.”
I grip the steering wheel tighter. “And you’re sure it was your father’s?”
“I’m sure. Why? Is something wrong?”
“It’s not real.”
Her silence stretches on, to the point where I wonder if the call disconnected. But then her soft voice filters through the speakers once again. “It’s…fake?”
“Yes. Clearly, someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look real.”
She shifts on the other end of the phone, her voice quieter now. “Because someone wanted my father to think it was true.”
“Exactly.”
“Or…my father knew I was listening and wanted me to think it was true.”
The car lurches as Riley’s words catch me off guard, and horns blare around me, but I barely notice.
I hadn’t even considered the possibility that Declan was the one behind the fake transcript.
He knew there was a chance he was going to die, and I know his hatred for my family ran deep enough that I bet he wanted to ensure we went down no matter what, even if he wasn’t around to see it.
“Pack a bag. I’m taking you to Ronan’s. It’s safer for you there until I can figure out what to do.”
“Kieran—”
“No arguments, Riley. Please.”
“Okay.”
By the time I pull into the parking garage, Riley is already waiting with her overnight bag over her shoulder. She’s clutching the straps so tightly her knuckles are white, and her face is drained of color.
I don’t waste time as I stop the car and pop the trunk.
Riley tosses the bag inside, and we’re back on the road in seconds.
Neither one of us speaks as I drive out of the city.
I should call Ronan to warn him we’re on our way, and I’m about to dial him when I notice the headlights behind us.
They’re not close enough to warrant my attention, but I’ve been followed enough times to know when someone is on my tail.
I change lanes just to be sure and glance in the rearview, silently cursing when I notice them doing the same.
My instincts start shouting before my brain has a chance to catch up.
“Is your seatbelt on?” My free hand finds the Glock tucked into my jacket.
