Page 134 of Freed By Fire
Jack sets his drink down. “That’s a serious accusation to make.”
“It’s not an accusation,” I reply. “Take a look for yourself. It’s all there. Oliver was also working with him.”
Jack’s expression darkens. “What?”
“Thankfully, Oliver saw the error of his ways and came clean,” I continue, “but not before Mathew tried to frame him.”
Jack leans forward and snatches the flash drive off the desk. A tremor races through him as he shoves it into his laptop and waits. The screen lights up a moment later, and I watch him grip the edges of the desk.
I don’t know if it’s enough.
I don’t know if Mathew has already turned him.
Despite our differences, I know that my father and I share the understanding that the good of the family and the empire come above all else.
Something Mathew hasn’t taken into consideration.
“He doesn’t care if they raze the empire. He’d rather rule over a pile of ashes than leave me in charge.”
Jack turns from the laptop and fixes his gaze on me. “I see.”
“I don’t know how much time we have,” I say, “or how many people have turned sides already, but we can still get ahead of this.”
Jack pushes his chair back, stands up, and walks over to the cart. He pours himself a drink and downs it in one gulp. Then he pours himself another and turns his back to me. In the glass window opposite him, I see him watching me.
Why isn’t he saying anything?
A niggling sensation takes root.
Am I too late?
Has Mathew gotten to him?
I clear my throat and ignore the whistling sound in my ears. “He doesn’t know I’m onto him, but it’s only a matter of time.”
Jack turns to face me with an unreadable expression. “Yes.”
“Did you hear a word I said?” I ask. “He’s tearing apart the empire, and that includes everything you’ve worked so hard to build. Mathew doesn’t care about the family name or the legacy.”
Jack sits back down behind the desk and lifts the glass to his lips. “I wasn’t under the impression that he did.”
I slam both hands against the desk, hard enough to make the wood rattle. “He won’t stop at me, and you know it. You’ll be next.”
Jack levels me with a cold look. “Mathew wouldn’t strike his father.”
I reel back. “He would, and you’d be a fool to assume otherwise.”
Goddamn it.
Where is that cold fury he’s known for? Why hasn’t he unleashed his wrath?
This isn’t going the way I thought it would, and I can already feel everything—the future, our safety—slipping through my fingers.
I whip out my gun, desperation pumping through me as I point it at him. “How long have you been working with him?”
“Put the gun down, boy.”
I remove the safety. “How long?”
