Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“Do you know if your wife has a life insurance policy?” Ackerson asked.
I’d been ready for her to resort to her tactic of switching topics, but not for this particular question. My answer was startled—and honest. “I don’t think so? We never discussed life insurance, so if she has a policy, it’ll be from before we met.”
“How about a will?”
“Yes, we did it a couple of days after our wedding.”
“Why the rush?” Ackerson leaned across the table, her tone sliding into abrasive. “You’re both in your twenties, plenty of life left to live.”
I lifted my shoulders. “My father’s a lawyer. He suggested it.”
“Odd thing for a man to suggest to newlyweds.”
I shrugged again and left it at that, even though Ackerson paused and stared. Poor Ackerson. She had no idea I’d grown up in this environment—and while the game player was my mother, it was my father who’d taught me how to withstand it. Because Anand Advani had been caught between his slavish devotion to his wife and his paternal need to protect his second son since the day of my birth.
“People want to fill silences,” he’d said to me when I was nine, and freshly emotionally bruised after an interaction with the woman who only had enough love in her for one son.
“Long pauses are a favorite tactic of anyone who wants to get information out of another person—just wait until the other party cracks from the awkwardness or gets nervous. Don’t fall for it again, Tavish. Don’t show her your heart.” A pause. “Or you won’t survive her.”
Today, I deliberately didn’t maintain the eye contact. Some cops read that kind of contact as a challenge and got aggressive. But neither did I look around as if unable to settle. Rather, I looked down at the table as if lost in thought.
There’s no such thing as justice. It’s all legal chess. First one to checkmate wins.
My father’s words. My mother’s thoughts.
The problem was that my former employer wasn’t the only other player in this game. If Jason Musgrave got wind of the murders of the Prasad family, and of my involvement with Diya, Ackerson would have herself a font of nasty innuendo and accusations.
If I could’ve murdered anyone, it’d be the man who’d done all he could to make my life hell. The only problem was that I’d be the chief suspect as soon as the bastard turned up dead—or went missing. Still, it was nice to dream.
“I’ll need a copy of the wills.”
“We did one together. Never got around to putting it in the Prasads’ safety-deposit box.” Despite my cooperative tone, my mouth was dry, my temples beating with a pulse that felt so big I was afraid it was visible. “The lawyers in LA will have a copy. I can get their name from my dad—he set it up. We just turned up and signed.”
“And your wife was fine with all this?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?” I scowled, my frustration real. “Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but there’s nothing weird in the will. Just the two of us giving our stuff to each other, and a few sentimental items to our friends or family.”
Though when Ackerson read the will, she’d see that it was Diya who’d made ninety percent of the sentimental bequests; I’d put only one name in there, the bequeathed item a particular piece of art from Susanne that I thought should go back to the Winthorpe family. “Most of the assets coming into the marriage were mine.”
I knew I’d made a mistake, that I’d spoken too much, when her eyes gained a sudden feral spark. “Balance has changed now, though, hasn’t it?”
“What?” My brain was lagging, my nerves eating up my thoughts.
“The Prasad family’s lawyer has confirmed that the doctors left everything to their children in equal shares. One of those children is most likely dead, his body all but obliterated. The other is clinging to life—but Diya Prasad has already become the beneficiary by being the sole survivor. If she dies, it all goes to you.”
My face burned, my leg threatening to pump up and down. Of all the possible avenues on which Ackerson could’ve pinned her suspicions, the financial one was the absolute worst.
Susanne. Jocelyn. Virna.
My history could bury me.
“What are you getting at, Detective?” I channeled my father’s cold and hard “asshole lawyer” demeanor. “In case you’ve forgotten, I wasn’t there when Diya was attacked and her family killed.”
“Thanks to the fire, there’s no way for us to pinpoint the exact timeline,” was the curt response. “For all I know, you attacked everyone, then began a small fire that you knew would take time to get going.”
I furrowed my brow. “What?”
“Act stupid,” my father had advised me at thirteen, after my mother had nearly broken me despite everything he’d already tried to teach me. “People who hold you in contempt will just give up if they think you’re not worth their energy.” Hope in his tone. “It’s also a useful tool in life—folks often forget to watch their words around those they see as less intelligent.”