Page 13 of Old Money, Deadly Secrets

“Nice try,” Flora said, though the corner of her mouth twitched. She wiped her mouth with her napkin and stood up, clapping her hands together. “Right. On that note, dinner is over before anyone accidentally burns down the garage. Kids, you are on full kitchen duty tonight. Clear the table, load the dishwasher, and wipe down the counters.”

A collective groan rose from Rhys, Kenzi, and Amelia, but they immediately started gathering plates. Flora ran a tight ship, and arguing was futile.

Flora turned her attention to Bear and Dog, waving a hand toward the hallway. “You two. Out of my way. Go retreat to the den and do whatever brooding, Alpha-male strategizing you’ve been itching to do since Viper’s date was brought up. Chores will take about an hour, and then we’ll reconvene for blackberry cobbler.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bear rumbled, standing and pulling Flora into a deep kiss, one that promised more later when the house was quiet. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know,” Flora replied, a soft smile playing on her lips as she pulled away. “An hour. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

Dog grabbed his glass of water and stood, giving Flora a grateful nod. “Thanks for dinner, Flora. It was exactly what I needed.”

“Anytime, Dog. Now go.”

Bear led the way down the hall to his home office, pulling the heavy oak door shut behind them. The muffled sounds of the kids bickering over who had to scrub the roasting pan faded away, leaving the room in a thick, suddenly serious quiet. Bear moved to his desk, but didn’t sit down. He leaned against the edge, crossing his massive arms.

The relaxed, family-man demeanor vanished, replaced instantly by the sharp focus of a tactical team leader. He looked at his friend.

Dog took a drink of his water, the warmth of the dinner fading as the reality of his day rushed back in. His gaze was sharp. “Anything back from Link on Margaret Fletcher?”

Bear pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping the screen to bring up a secure message thread. “Yeah, he pinged my encrypted channel about ten minutes ago. Good thing you called earlier for the rush job. What’s got you so spooked about her?”

Dog nodded, his jaw tightening as the image of her terrified face flashed in his mind. “She came into my office today looking for a job. The moment I mentioned a standard background check, she went white as a sheet. Total, textbook panic response. She’s running from something, Bear. I need to know what.”

Bear’s expression darkened as he scrolled through Link’s message. “Not a what. A who. Link got a few hits right off the initial ping. The Fletcher name is old Richmond money—very quiet, very insulated. But he dug past the maiden name and found a marriage license.”

Bear looked up, meeting Dog’s eyes, all traces of the jovial family man gone. “To a Charles Montgomery Winslow.”

Dog felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. The inconvenient truth he’d suspected was now confirmed. “Winslow. Who is he?”

“That’s where it gets complicated,” Bear said, tossing the phone onto the desk so Dog could see the spiderweb of data Link had already begun mapping out. “Link only had time for a surface scratch, but it’s enough to set off every alarm bell we have. Winslow is heavily connected politically out of Pennsylvania. Old money mixed with new power. Link said the financial footprint is massive—a maze of shell corporations, offshore accounts, and aggressive PACs. The guy has serious reach and a lot of lawyers.”

Dog absorbed the information, his gut screaming that this was even worse than he’d originally thought. “She’s too vulnerable to leave out there alone, Bear. If a guy with that kind of power and money is looking for her, she doesn’t stand a chance on her own.”

Bear crossed his arms again, nodding slowly. “We’ll figure out what kind of hell she walked out of, and exactly what kind of hell is following her. Link is digging deeper now, but with financials this buried, we might need a specialist.”

Dog stared at the name Charles Montgomery Winslow glowing on the phone screen. “I know a specialist,” he said quietly, the Boston accent he usually suppressed clipping his words. “My brother, Will. He’s still swimming in the Boston financial world. If there’s a dirty dollar to be traced in those shell corporations, he knows exactly how to find its shadow.”

Bear blinked. “Your brother? Will? I didn’t even know you had a brother. And ‘Boston financial world’? That sounds pretty substantial.” Bear had known Dog for decades, through SEAL training, combat, and the quiet reintegration into civilian life. Dog was disciplined, brilliant, and utterly unpretentious. The only hint of a past outside of the military and medicine was his online Harvard PhD, which he’d mostly completed during their active duty years. He’d never once mentioned family wealth.

Dog let out a short, humorless puff of air. He ran a hand through his hair before continuing. “Substantial is an understatement. The Berkshires, we’re old money. I mean, way back before the 1920s. Think Rockefeller, JP Morgan level of old. Will runs the family’s investment firm. He knows how to make money disappear and reappear in all the wrong places, which means he knows how to track it too.”

Bear stared, his mouth slightly agape. He replayed years of memories with Dog: sharing MREs in the sandbox, crashing in rundown safe houses, Dog meticulously saving every penny to fund his dream clinic. It just didn’t compute with the image of a family on par with industrial titans. “You’re telling me,” Bear said slowly, a grin starting to spread across his face despite the grim topic, “that my perpetually understated, ramen-noodle-eating, ‘I’m just a doctor’ friend comes from a family with more money than God?” He shook his head, a genuine laugh escaping him. “And you never thought to mention this? All those times we were short on cash, all those grants you applied for that just happened to come through for the Protectors, all those times you said you were working with banks and loans for your clinic and that massive lodge in the mountains? You were just funding it all yourself?”

Dog merely shrugged, a hint of discomfort in his eyes. “It’s never been my world. I left that behind the moment I enlisted. The grants you thought I was getting for the Protectors? That was my way of contributing without drawing attention. And yes, the clinic, the lodge, it’s all from various trust funds. Easier to just let everyone believe it was traditional financing. But Will, well he’s good at what he does. And he owes me a few favors for not ratting him out on some truly stupid adolescent stunts. He’ll make Winslow’s financial footprint glow in the dark.”

Bear was still chuckling, processing this completely new facet of his friend. “Alright, then, ‘Berkshire.’ This is going to be interesting.” His expression then turned serious again. “No, don’t call him yet. If this Winslow guy has that kind of reach, we need to bring everyone to the table. We’ll set up a full brief for tomorrow evening. Get Link to prep the conference room with everything he has, and I’ll have Moose ready. Can you coordinate with your brother and get him on a secure line for tomorrow? Let’s say, 1900? We’ll also get Hank and Swede from Montana on the video feed. The more eyes we have on this labyrinth, the better.”

Dog nodded, the plan forming in his mind. “1900 tomorrow. I’ll get Will on board. He’ll love digging into something this messy.”

Bear glanced at the clock on his desk, his eyes widening slightly. “Crap. It’s almost eight. Flora said an hour, and she doesn’t mess around when it comes to her blackberry cobbler.” He pushed off the desk, his earlier tactical intensity quickly morphing back into the good-natured family man. “Let’s move, Berkshire. Before we lose our dessert privileges.”

They quickly exited the office, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving the complex web of shell corporations and political maneuverings to await tomorrow. As they re-entered the living area, the faint scent of warm berries and cinnamon now mingled with the residual smells of dinner. Flora was already placing a steaming dish on the dining table, the kids buzzing around her.

“Just in time,” Flora announced, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “I was just about to declare that you were out of luck for dessert.” She handed Bear a serving spoon. “Now, did you two manage to solve all the world’s problems, or just get yourselves even more wound up?”

Bear winked at Dog, then turned to his wife, scooping a generous portion of cobbler onto a plate. “Just laying the groundwork, my love. Just laying the groundwork.”

Dog watched Flora dish out the cobbler, the warmth of the evening a welcome balm after the day’s events. He exchanged a glance with Bear, a silent understanding passing between them: the hunt for Charles Montgomery Winslow was on, and it would be far from easy. But for now, amidst the comforting chaos of family and the sweet scent of blackberry cobbler, a brief respite was earned.