Brick’s grip tightened on the phone. “You were only supposed to be keeping tabs on Vorhees,” he reminded him. He could trust his father to follow a trail, but not jump into the middle of a mess like this. Not with Remi at stake.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been doing,” William assured him. “But in doing that, I may have struck up an acquaintanceship of sorts.”

“What did you do, Dad?” he asked, starting to feel panicky.

“I merely helped one of Vorhees’s staffers out of a jam in a scuffle at a bar. Got him out the door just before the cops came. He’s feeling appreciative.”

“What does he do for Vorhees?”

“Security. I read the room and mentioned how I wouldn’t mind getting some information on his boss’s questionable activities.”

Brick wanted to crawl through the phone and wring his father’s neck.

“Did he give you anything, or did you just put a target on Remi’s back?”

“Son, this ain’t my first rodeo. I told my new friend that I wouldn’t mind making a few bucks off his boss and I’d be inclined to share the proceeds if he was helpful. This was after I saw the senator spit in the man’s face when he tried to help Mrs. Vorhees into a car. The senator didn’t seem to like that.”

Fucker.

“You told the personal security of a United States Senator that you intended to blackmail his boss?”

“Well, if you want it in a nutshell, then yeah.”

Brick closed his eyes. “That was not a smart move. If word gets back to Vorhees—”

“It won’t,” William assured him. “He’s the source you’ve been looking for. Insider. Been kicked around by the rich boss. Not feeling too loyal. Best of all, he knows a lot of dirt. “

“What kind of dirt?” Brick asked.

“Seems that the boss called him to pick him up at the airport a few months back. He wasn’t due back in Chicago for another three days. When he got there, Vorhees took his car and told him to catch a ride home. Never saw his car again. It was a Chevy Tahoe.”

Brick’s mind ran through the timing.

“Fuck,” he swore.

“Senator Vorhees was so appreciative he gave the guy a brand new Escalade.”

“That still doesn’t prove anything,” Brick pointed out, frustration rising.

“I’d be inclined to agree if I didn’t have pictures on my phone of the wreck. Tracked it down to a junkyard in the ’burbs. Looks like it hit something head-on. I also have the Lyft receipt of our friend getting picked up from the airport that night.”

This was something. Something he could work with.

“Will he talk?” Brick demanded.

“I’m working on that. If there’s money in it for him, he has no problem singing like a goddamn canary. But it’s going to take some time to make him comfortable with the idea of the cops.”

“Make him.”

“This takes finesse, son. I’ll do my best.”

Great. Brick’s best shot at ending this before Vorhees came hunting was to trust his unreliable father to deliver results without leading a madman straight to Mackinac.