Chapter 76

Melissa leaned against the kitchen doorway and murmured, "You're late again," her voice tight with repressed annoyance.

I shrugged out of my coat and toed off my shoes, muttering, "I know." "Work was delayed."

She crossed her arms and answered, "Work always runs over, Richards." Her eyes settled on the bags beneath my eyes, softening. "You must quit killing yourself because of this."

I didn't answer. Rather, I went to the refrigerator, took out a bottle of water, and used more power than was necessary to remove the cap. Even when the cool beverage reached my throat, the echoes of today's failures were still audible.

Melissa took a step closer and sighed. "At least bid Mia good night before she goes to sleep."

I was halted in my tracks by that. It was 9:47 p.m. when I looked at the clock. I had assured her that I would have dinner at home. Once more.

"Is she still awake?" My voice was quiet as I asked.

Melissa remarked, "She waited as long as she could." "But she doesn't want to keep hoping you'll make it-you know how she is."

Her remarks were a sharp sting. I gave a nod and proceeded down the hallway to Mia's room, leaving the door open. My daughter, who is eight years old, was inside, snuggled up under her pink comforter with her favorite stuffed animal nestled against her chest.

I brushed a lock of hair off her forehead while perched on the side of the bed. "Hey, my love," I muttered.

Her eyes opened momentarily, and she smiled drowsily at me. "Hello, Daddy."

I muttered, "I apologize for missing dinner." She whispered, already falling back asleep, "It's okay."

It wasn't acceptable.

When I got back, the silence in the living room was too thick with Melissa's silent condemnation. She was sitting on the couch as usual, reading a news item about Monroe Enterprises on her tablet. Though not enough so, the headline was damning.

Without raising her gaze, she inquired, "Is there still no break?"

I settled myself on the armchair across from her. "No. Ethan Monroe is protected from detection. And nobody else wants to speak because they are too afraid.

Melissa put down her iPad and turned to face me, her face displaying a mixture of fatigue and pity. "The Monroes aren't the only ones involved, are they?"

I tensed, but her eyes remained fixed on me.

"It's about Dad," she muttered.

My chest ached familiarly at the thought of him. I saw a vision of my father's face: pale and emaciated, his eyes lifeless from too many fights lost. Although he had always been a fighter, he was never going to be able to overcome the illness.

"Dad deserved better," I murmured quietly. "He ought not to have perished while waiting for assistance that never arrived."

Melissa added softly, "Ethan Monroe is not to blame for that."

"No," I yelled, then instantly felt bad about my tone. "No, but his father is to blame." And everything Henry Monroe created continues to benefit Ethan. Their empire continues to be financed by every shady transaction and every destroyed life.

Melissa let out a sigh. "I know you desire justice, Marcus. However, this preoccupation is killing you.

I didn't respond. How could I respond? That she was correct? That each late night, each dinner I skipped, each commitment I violated to Mia felt like a nail in the coffin of the guy I once was?

I sat at my desk the following morning, gazing at the jumble of papers and folders strewn all over the place. Like some corny detective drama, pictures of Emily Clark, Ethan Monroe, and other acquaintances were posted to the corkboard in front of me with red string.

"You're early, Richards."

Agent Decker, my partner, was waiting in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee in each hand, when I turned around. One he threw on my desk.

I took a sip and remarked, "Couldn't sleep."

Decker sat across from me and said, "Let me guess." "Monroe?"

I affirmed, "Monroe."

Decker studied me, leaning back in his chair. You've spent months doing this. What gives you the impression that today will be different?

I said, "I have a feeling."

He retorted, in a tone more amused than critical, "You've always got a feeling."

I pointed to the files and remarked, "Ethan is slipping." He's doing too much juggling. I can crack him if I push him hard enough.

Decker stated icily, "Or he'll get a lawyer and slap you with another restraining order."

I ignored him, the possibilities rushing through my head. Ethan's vulnerability was his temper. If I could locate the ideal pressure point and angle...

I parked outside Monroe Enterprises that afternoon and saw the staff coming and going. The structure, a steel and glass fortress, represented the Monroes' unbreakable legacy.

I saw Ethan walking away, his face as hard as ever. However, there was a glimmer of uncertainty, and even dread, in his eyes. Though slight, it was present.

I exited my vehicle and went across the street. "Mr. Monroe!"

Ethan stopped and looked at me, his jaw clenched.

His voice was cold as he said, "Agent Richards." "To whom do I owe the enjoyment?"

I pretended to be casual as I said, "Just thought I'd check in." "Observe the state of business."

A smirk formed on Ethan's lips, but it stayed out of his eyes. "Business is doing well. I'll excuse myself now-

"Amusing," I cut in. "Because I've been hearing different things." It turns out that some of your clients aren't as honorable as you'd like folks to think.

Ethan's face grew serious. "Richards, I'm not in the mood for games."

"Neither am I," I responded, taking a step forward. "You're not untouchable, despite what you believe. Ethan, I'll find something. And you're going down when I do.

His fists clenched at his sides as he scowled at me. I waited for a while for him to say something, but he turned and left.

I experienced an odd mixture of satisfaction and annoyance as I watched him leave. Even if I had irritated him, it wasn't enough. Not quite yet.

I returned to my office, where I sat by myself as the desk lamp's glow created lengthy shadows across the space. Melissa texted me, and my phone buzzed:

Tonight, don't be too late. Mia misses you.

My chest twisted with remorse as I gazed at the screen. But I was unable to stop. Not right now. Not with me so near.

I glanced back at the corkboard and saw a picture of Ethan and Emily at a gala. They appeared flawless and unbeatable. However, I was aware.

I pinned another thread to the board and murmured, "Montane, you're running out of time."