“Mama Loretta,” he breathes when he hears my voice. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach Deacon to get your number. I wanted to visit.”
“I’ve been here,” I say. “Living with Deacon and Sloan.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you’d moved in with them. That’s great, right? They’re taking care of you?”
The silence that follows my lack of response tells him everything.
“What happened?” His voice goes cold. “Tell me everything.”
I do. When I finish, I can hear him breathing hard on the other end of the line, fury barely contained.
“I’m going to pull his financial records,” Vincent says. “Every account, every investment, every dollar. If he’s been lying to you, I’ll find it. And Loretta—I’m coming tomorrow. Whatever you need, whatever it takes, I’m there.”
By the time I hang up from the third call, I can hear their car pulling back into the driveway. Sloan’s laughter echoes through the garage, high and carefree. Deacon’s deeper voice rumbles underneath, relaxed and happy. They sound like people without a care in the world, people who just enjoyed an excellent meal and fine wine, people who have no idea that the foundation of their comfortable life is about to crack wide open.
