Page 75 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

My grip tightened around the phone.Between. That word didn’t sit right with me. It implied invisibility.

Another message came through.And because he sits there, he knows when things are about to move before they move.

I stared at that line longer than I should have. That matched too many things I’d already seen. Delays that weren’t delays and information arriving too cleanly. Gaps that felt deliberate.

You’ve already started seeing the pattern, haven’t you? This is the missing piece.

My throat tightened slightly. I looked back at the list again.

Four names, and one question mark that connected them all..

I stared at the last message longer than I meant to. My thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Who is he?

I don’t have a confirmed identity for him.

Shit. That wasn’t what I’d expected.

I’m digging deeper. I’ll find him.

How?Checking timing alignment. Approval lag. Movement consistency. He’s good at covering his tracks, but no one is perfect.

I held still. Because that matched what I’d already seen.

That’s all for now. I’ll contact you if I have any more information.

I dropped the phone and pushed my chair back slightly. The pages on the bed didn’t change, but the way I saw them did.

Peter Earl was no longer just an entry point, he was a trigger.

Stuart Justice, the one who made things look legitimate.

Ian Rush, the redirection.

And Gabrielle De Succa, the exit point.

Who was this mystery person who connected them all?

My fingers pressed against the edge of the paper because the shape was starting to suggest something I didn’t like.

It was cooperation and alignment, coordination across time and roles and people who, on paper, should not have been connected in any meaningful way unless someone had been placing them near each other deliberately. I reached for my notebook and turned back a few pages to the earlier entries. They were old notes about my father I’d taken without fully understanding why they mattered at the time.

Back then, I’d written things about inconsistency in reporting and unexpected internal approval and left them alone. Now I underlined them again, because they didn’t feel isolated anymore. They felt familiar, like a pattern inside a pattern. My breathing slowed.

If these names were part of a structure, then my father hadn’t just been caught inside it. He might have been guidedthroughit. Or positioned inside it. Or used as a point within it.

The thought made my fingers pause on the page. If that structure had existed back then…then wouldn’t it exist now, too?

My attention moved without permission toward the present, toward Sean and his organization. The people around him. If the same architecture still existed, it wouldn’t havestayed in one place. It would have adapted and attached itself to whatever system was stable enough to carry it forward.

Sean’s world was exactly the kind of environment where something like that would survive. I closed my notebook slowly.

My phone was still beside me. I looked at it without picking it up. And for the first time, the investigation stopped feeling like it was about the past.

It felt current—close and alive, breathing inside the same space I was in. I stood up and walked to the window without really thinking. The fifth person would be someone very close.

They’d have to be in Sean’s inner circle, the people closest to him. The ones who moved around him like they belonged there. It felt dangerous even to consider.