30. Frey

THIRTY

FREY

They show me to another room, but it isn't empty. Someone else sits at the long table identical to the one I'd been handcuffed to moments ago. Beside him is a stern-faced figure that I assume to be a lawyer. It's ironic. My father spent so long deeming himself to be the highest authority in Westpoint City, yet even he knows when to defer to another when facing police interrogation.

When he sees me, his eyes narrow. I can't help the instinctive twinge that makes me wince at the sight of him. My father, the all-powerful leader who ruled my entire life with an iron fist. How diminished he seems now. Still the same man, but somehow smaller in this enclosed space. When he speaks, even his voice sounds different. Gone is the resonating tenor. In its place is a rasping shadow.

"Is this the cause of all this?" he wonders. "The word of my mentally-ill daughter?"

"So you don't deny the charges?" I spit out. My pulse is racing. I can barely sit still, and yet fear isn't the reason for the newfound adrenaline coursing through my veins. It's triumph. To fulfill the agent's request, all I have to do is keep my cool.

And let him do all the talking.

"No one would believe a word coming out of your mouth," my father counters. A muscle in his jaw twitches. A subtle but promising sign. "This is ridiculous?—"

"Ridiculous. Like your lies about Hale's death? I know the truth," I insist. "You can't deny it now, and it doesn't matter. You know, I used to admire you and your skill for leadership. I thought that bending others to your will was your strength. But Hale saw through you, right from the start. He always had."

"Your brother was a worthless addict, Frances. I can't be blamed for his failings any more than I could be blamed for yours."

I don't react to the statement right away. Instead, I take the time to settle into the moment and embrace every aspect of it. Some of what I feel is pain—there is no denying it. I look into the eyes of my father, and I can't see the person I once admired more than anyone else in the world. That person is gone, if he ever existed in the first place.

Now, with the remnants of the horror I've lived through on my mind, I have no more delusions about just who I'm dealing with. A monster.

"He was an addict because of you. The heroine you shoved into his veins. We both know it," I finally say, chewing over the words. It's ironic in so many ways that he would choose that word to throw in my face now. Addict.

But he reacts to it. A barely perceptible twitch of his lower lip. Perhaps the start of a denial?

Instead, he laughs. "You are a fool. Your brother was the one who chased a high rather than live up to our family's legacy. The word of a mentally-disturbed woman isn't proof of anything."

He sounds so smug. So confident.

"Then you don't have anything to fear when these agents go through Hale's journal and compare everything in it to the allegations against you," I say, surprised by how damn calm I sound.

And for once—just one brief second—I can see my father's bravado falter. His eyes narrow ever so slightly. Am I telling the truth? He doesn't know.

And when it comes to Michael Heywood, his ego is his main weakness. Always has been.

"And whatever they find will lead back to that criminal Silas and those thugs of his. Not me."

Experience dealing with my father in this arena pays off. I spot a small tell that I doubt I would have noticed before this whole mess started. Back when I was just stupid, innocent Frey so focused on herself and her own pain she was blind to the rest of the world. I'm not that girl anymore, and a twisting sensation in my gut warns me not to let this topic pass. He reacted to it for a reason.

If Daze were here with me, I know exactly what he'd say, "Press the bastard."

So I do. "The truth is, you have no idea what Hale knew. He wrote down every bit of what he'd discovered. Every detail about your secret deal with a heroine dealer. Silas won't take the fall for this. You will?—"

"Enough," he snaps, slamming his hands onto the table. "Get her out of here?—"

He waves for a guard, but I lunge from my seat, bringing my face within inches of his. Perhaps it's a stupid, reckless move. Maybe I've internalized more of Daze's impulsive bravery than I'd thought. Either way, I feel like a dog with a bone.

If this agent needs cold, hard proof via confession, then that's what I'll give him.

"And," I say to my father's startled expression. "Hale knew all about where you'd stored the illicit goods. These men are just toying with you, Father. They already have a map with the locations circled."

Blue eyes flashing, Michael Heywood looks at me and smirks—but his eyes betray anything but smugness. "Colton Abernathy has his name on those accounts. Not me. He came to me for assistance. Your wayward husband had debts to pay off, Frances. Why else do you think I took pity on him by agreeing to your marriage? Out of respect."

My heartbeat surges through my eardrums. I can barely see straight. Yet, fear isn't the reason.

Just more of that intoxicating sense of triumph.

"We're done here," I say, rising to my feet. I have no idea how I manage to keep my expression neutral, let alone my voice. "Thank you for confirming that aspect of your madness. If they search under Colton's name, they'll find the properties and I'm sure there will be more evidence there tying you both to this mess. By the way…" I turn back to face him. "Did you know that Hale was contacting Homeland Security and feeding them information every step of the way? That's what he was trying to tell me all this time. But that's not what I wanted to tell you. It's this—my mother saw through you, so did Hale, and so did I. Now the entire world knows who you are, but I won't stand here and give you any more of my attention or time."

I turn on my heel and hear him shout after me.

I just keep walking.