Chapter 4

4

Artur

W e’re in deep trouble, and we know it.

The minute Lyric walked into that hotel room, we were pretty much done for. It only took us a few days to figure it out as every conversation that followed inadvertently led us back to her. Her presence was brief but inexplicably intimate. We were only supposed to have some fun. To celebrate having managed to get to Bowman without his lackey Smith sniffing us out.

Instead, we ended up deflowering a doctorate candidate with the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen.

Max and Ivan have been working hard for years trying to steer the family business into a different direction. I’ve been right there with them, putting my own sweat into it. We were so close to breaking the mold, until Bowman opened his mouth, forcing his federal buddies’ attention on us. The dirty bastard.

It had been quiet for almost a decade.

It was supposed to be a simple but effective operation: We tail him. We get close enough to grab him. And then we tell his big kahuna, SSA Smith, to back off our business and independent endeavors. All being things we didn’t want to do in order to achieve our goals yet we still had to do them.

Lyric stumbling in on us was an unexpected and interesting accident.

I’m about to approach her. Again.

For the past ten minutes, I’ve been lingering in the history section of the library, watching her. She has no idea, she’s so deeply wrapped up in her own thoughts. We turned her life upside down, even though we should’ve just let her go. It would’ve been easier. Cleaner. But we couldn’t help ourselves. And neither could she.

“Fuck it,” I say, putting the book I’ve been pretending to peruse back in its place, before making my way across the reading hall. I need to be near her again.

I stop cold in my tracks.

A man walks up to her. A familiar face that fills me with uneasiness. He smiles down at her as she looks at him in slight confusion.

“Dad,” she says. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at the campaign office? You have the debate in two days.”

“Lyric, honey, I need to talk to you,” he says.

Matthew Phelps is Lyric’s father.

“Shit,” I whisper.

If only we had known. Lyric was an innocent bystander. She was supposed to have nothing to do with our scheme, with our persistent enemies. Now she’s smack in the damn middle of it all.

“Dad, please, don’t tell me it’s about the job offer again. I already told you, I’m not interested,” Lyric says to her father. “I’ve already got so much on my plate.”

“I know but we could really use you. Your algorithm would give my campaign a definitive boost. I’d wipe the floor with Sanders with or without Sunday night’s debate. I need you, honey.”

“I don’t want to use my algorithm in this way,” Lyric snaps. “I’ve said this time and time again. It doesn’t belong in any kind of political warfare. It’s a decade away from such an application, Dad. The scenarios it gives me at this point are far too general, too easy to misinterpret. I’m still calibrating its political science analytical tools. It’s not ready for what you want it to do.”

“But you are,” Phelps insists. “Honey, you have such a brilliant mind, and you’re wasting it away in this library.”

“No, I am resting it in here. Most of my focus goes into my doctorate thesis. I should remind you that degree will get me onto the research team at the University of Chicago.”

“I could get you there. One phone call, that’s all it takes.”

“I don’t want your help,” Lyric replies with irritation. “I want to be able to do things on my own, Dad, to earn them. You know how much I hate nepotism.”

Phelps chuckles. “You never did want to follow in your daddy’s footsteps.”

“So why keep pushing this when you know the answer will always be the same?”

“My poll numbers are dropping. And the fact that one of my main contributors was kidnapped—”

“Wait, kidnapped? I thought Bowman was just missing,” Lyric blurts out.

I slide behind a bookshelf to avoid unnecessary exposure while keeping myself within earshot.

“I got a call from the FBI this morning. SSA Smith received a ransom demand,” Phelps says.

“Why did they call you about it?” Lyric asks.

He shrugs and runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Bowman is my close friend. He’s funding a large part of my campaign. They wanted to know if I could assist them financially. I have cash from the campaign’s war chest to dispense. Easier to write up and track.”

“Doesn’t the Bureau have money set aside for stuff like this?”

“Forget Bowman for a second,” Phelps says. “I’ll deal with him and Smith. They’re not the issue here, my campaign is. I need you, honey.”

To my surprise and genuine admiration, Lyric holds his gaze and shakes her head once more. “No, Dad. I’m not going to come work for you. And I will not use my algorithms to help you advance your political agenda. You’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way, like every other politician before you. Fundraising, televised debates, phone banks, the whole shebang.”

“Wow,” he shakes his head in disappointment. “My own daughter.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Lyric says. “Just because you’re my father doesn’t mean you’re entitled to any of my intellectual property.”

“I helped you get here!”

“No, I got myself here. You wanted me to go to Harvard and get into politics, like you did. In case you forgot, and it seems you have, I’m the one decided to go to MIT, instead. I’m the one who designed the algorithm and I’m the one who’s building a tool for the next generation. You did nothing, Dad. Hell, even my college tuition was fully covered by the trust fund that Mom left for me.”

“Now is not the time to split hairs,” Phelps hisses, and I can’t help but smile.

Lyric hit a soft spot. She hit it so hard, in fact, that her old man mutters something about her lack of empathy and gratitude before stomping away and bursting through the front doors of the library. I remain behind the bookshelf, analyzing my next steps.

She has a strained relationship with her father, that much is clear, but it doesn’t change who Matthew Phelps is. He’s one of our most dangerous and influential enemies, one of whom we’re looking to crush in order to protect and grow our legacy into the new era of the Bratva. He is one who forces us to remain in the old ways.

Lyric is his daughter. She’s fucking nuclear at this point.

It changes everything.