Chapter 49

"A prediction," I corrected, settling into the chair opposite him. "Tell me, did you convince John to refuse to confess, or did he suddenly grow a brain cell on his own?"

Hunter took another sip of his drink. "I haven't spoken to John."

"Don't lie to me," I leaned forward. "John doesn't have that good of a mind, always taking the easiest path. Now suddenly he's playing it smart? Someone's coaching him."

"Perhaps he realized what's at stake." Hunter watched me over the rim of his glass. "Or perhaps someone else is pulling the strings."

This suggestion made me pause. If Hunter hadn't been advising John, then who had? The same person who orchestrated my uncle's murder and framed my father?

"The mastermind," I murmured. "Of course. If John confesses to killing his father, the puppet master loses control of the corporation."

"If my father is convicted," I continued thinking aloud, "my family loses fifty percent of the shares in James Real Estate Group. Everything my father and grandfather built over generations... gone."

"Why would the shares transfer?" Hunter asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

I hesitated, weighing how much to reveal. But he would discover it eventually in his research.

"My grandfather's will contains a specific clause," I explained. "If either brother harms their sibling or damages the corporation's interests, they forfeit all shares."

"Clever provision," Hunter remarked.

"It kept peace in the family for decades," I said bitterly. "Until now."

While he was distracted with his glass, I carefully slipped my phone from my purse, angling it for a photo. One picture of us together looking intimate would sow doubt in Lucy's mind about her expensive new lawyer's loyalty.

Before I could press the button, Hunter's hand shot out, plucking the phone from my grasp.

"Taking selfies at a time like this?" He examined the screen. "Or perhaps trying to create evidence that might make Lucy question my loyalty?"

I glared at him. "Give me back my phone."

"When you promise not to be childish." He pocketed the device. "Cheap tricks are beneath you, Jane."

Fine. I didn't need photos to make Lucy suspicious of Hunter. There were other ways to accomplish that.

"Have you convinced your father to turn himself in?" Hunter asked, changing tactics.

"He's innocent," I replied sharply. "Why would he confess to something he didn't do?"

Hunter's expression revealed nothing. "The evidence suggests so."

"Manufactured evidence," I countered. "Someone went to great lengths to frame him."

I stood, suddenly needing space. "I need to use the restroom."

In the restroom, I splashed cold water on my face. As I turned to leave, I encountered Mary.

I studied her carefully. For a daughter whose father had just been murdered, wearing a black cocktail dress was incomprehensible.

I said coldly. "Your father isn't even buried yet, and you're out partying?"

Guilt, defiance flashed across her face before she composed herself. "We all grieve differently."

I leaned against the sink, watching her. "Mary, you must know what really happened that night."

She began touching up her lipstick, avoiding my gaze. "The police have their suspect."

"My father is innocent," I insisted. "You know that."

Mary capped her lipstick, finally meeting my eyes in the mirror. "Do I?"

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Tell me what you know. I can make it worth your while."

"Are you trying to bribe me?" She sounded almost amused.

"I'm offering a mutually beneficial arrangement," I corrected, discreetly activating the recording device in my pocket. "A substantial sum in exchange for information."

Mary turned to face me directly. "If you want information, you should speak with our attorney."

"Hunter?" I feigned surprise. "Why would I talk to him?"

"He's representing our family now," she replied, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "Lucy has already signed a contract with him."

"Is she?" I smiled slightly. "Well, you might want to tell her that Hunter and I are having drinks together in room 510. Right now."

Mary's composure slipped for a moment. "What?"

"We're... old friends," I let the implication hang in the air. "Very old friends."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I see."

"Do you?" I gathered my purse. "Well, I should get back to him. He gets impatient when left alone too long."

I brushed past her, feeling a small thrill of victory at planting that seed of doubt. But when I returned to room 510, I found it empty. Hunter and his colleagues had vanished.

I swore under my breath. The opportunity to further the deception by having Mary see us together had been lost.

Leaving the bar, I got into the car and said to Frank: "Go to that bastard Hunter's apartment." Frank glanced back at me, but said nothing and simply started the car.

I borrowed Frank's phone again. I called Rebecca, telling her I'd be busy tonight and wouldn't be coming home.

Today, I had arranged for more than twenty bodyguards to watch over the James family mansion, ensuring Rebecca's safety.

I needed information that only Hunter might possess, so I headed to Hunter's apartment.

Without hesitation, I entered the passcode and the door opened—he still hadn't changed it.

"Most people knock before entering someone's home," Hunter's deep voice came from the hallway.

He stood there in a dark blue robe, hair still damp from a shower. Water droplets traced paths down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his robe. The sight momentarily distracted me, but I quickly regained my composure.

"I thought we were past such formalities," I replied, slipping off my heels. "Besides, you've never changed your code."

"I forgot," he said, his expression unreadable. "I'll have it changed tomorrow. What do you want, Jane?"

I couldn't help moving closer, my fingertips lightly touching the solid warmth of his chest through his robe. The contact sent an electric current through me, reminding me of what I'd been trying so hard to forget.

"What makes you think I want something?" I asked, trying to maintain my composure despite standing so close.

Hunter caught my wrist, firmly removing my hand from his chest. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"Fine," I conceded. "I need information. Did Lucy tell you what really happened that night? Did you record your conversation with her?"

"She's my client," Hunter replied, his voice cooling several degrees. "You know I can't violate attorney-client privilege."

I studied him carefully, looking for any crack in his professional armor. "Even for me?"

"Especially for you," he countered. "If our positions were reversed, you'd be the first to lecture me about ethical standards."

The frustration I'd been containing threatened to spill over. "My father is sitting in jail, framed for a murder he didn't commit. Don't talk to me about ethics when my family is being systematically destroyed!"