So the murder of my wife and son was an afterthought to him? A detail he’d discovered and was holding on to. A piece of data to be leveraged at the right time.

“When did you know?” I asked.

“After,” he said. “Much, much after.”

“A week after they died? A month?”

“Six months. But it was just a guess. The investment wasn’t performing like it had been—back when . . . you know . . .”

“Back when the store was selling drugs?”

“They said it was better if I didn’t ask. Okay? So I didn’t. But my guy, the one you call a ghost—”

“He told you?”

“After we gave you the location on that assassin, Tarticoft, my guy did some work. Put it together.”

I sat down on a bench near the door where Tammy had come in, my head in my hands.

Monroe had known about Lena and Jonas. I didn’t owe him any favor on that roof. He owed me, out of basic decency.

“You have two options right now, Monroe,” I said, my head still down. “Number one is to walk out there and resign. Make up whatever excuse you want. But it’s effective immediately. You’re out, for good. No more politics.”

“Or?”

“Raymond Kirios.” I said the journalist’s name. “Do you know him? Because he’s gonna torch you.”

“I’m thinking of a third option,” Monroe said. And as I looked up, I saw that he was holding my Glock.

“You’re gonna shoot a cop?” I asked. “I’m sure your platform involves supporting law enforcement.”

“You came in here.” He came closer to me. “Unhinged. Causing trouble. There was a scuffle.”

“No,” I said. “I’m gonna open that door.” I pointed. “And the world’s gonna see you holding that gun.”

Click.

No ammunition. I’d made sure that one bullet wasn’t even in the chamber.

When I made that decision out in the car, it was to make sure I didn’t lose control and kill Monroe.

I shoved him back into the chair and grabbed my Glock. “A year and a half ago, this is how I would’ve handled you. See, I had this idea in my head back then.”

“Do not walk out of here,” Monroe said, grabbing at my arm.

“An idea,” I said, “that I could play judge, jury, and executioner.”

“I can make you rich, Marsh,” he said. “You can retire. Rest of your life. Go fishing. Maybe get a place up on Schaeffer Lake.”

I stared, incredulous. How the hell did this guy know I go to Schaeffer Lake?

“Or wherever you like,” he corrected himself.

I decided to take a shot at something. Something that had been itching at my brain for the last day.

“You mean rich like Kelly Borland?” I asked.

The governor hesitated. Blew air out of his nose. “Well, obviously that wasn’t money well spent,” he said. “If you’re here.”

My heart sank.

Shit, I thought. Kelly got paid.

Maybe she started off scared of Ghost, but in the end, money was offered, and she took it.