Herb crossed to the bar. He took a tumbler off the shelf, flipped it over, and set it on the granite top of the bar. He brought his drink back to the chair and eased into the leather. “Something is bothering you, Hannah. What is it?”

She hesitated.

“Please, I’m not one of your smooth-talking, beat-around-the-bush suits.” Herb sipped his drink. “If you have something to say, let’s hear it.”

Right. There was no way to tactfully ease into this conversation. Hannah leaned forward. “The man who assaulted me was involved in a human trafficking ring specializing in underage girls. The night of the party, these girls were working out of the motel behind the club. I also know that someone at that party arranged for a group rate with their pimp.” Hannah watched his eyes. No shock. No outrage. “You knew, didn’t you?”

Herb waved a hand. “Men have appetites. You saw that during the party. You can take the richest man and reduce him to his basest instincts with the lure of sex with a beautiful woman.”

“Not all men,” Hannah said, her thoughts flickering to Brody.

He snorted. “Most of the men I know.”

“You need to upgrade your social circle,” Hannah said. “So, were you in on it? Did you pay to appease your appetites?”

Herb looked disgusted. “I like women, probably too much, but I don’t fuck children. To be blunt, I like my women stacked, the key word being women,” he emphasized. “I certainly don’t need to use prostitutes. I have a whole club full of gorgeous young women who would be thrilled to have sex with me.”

Revulsion curled in Hannah’s belly. Herb might not have participated, but he still viewed women as objects to be acquired and used. “If you didn’t make the arrangements, then who did?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Money can buy anything. It’s the way of the world.” Herb returned to the wet bar. Setting his glass on the black granite top, he lifted the lid from an ice bucket and used tongs to add a few cubes to his tumbler. Ice cracked as he poured from a bottle of The Macallan. He leaned an elbow on the bar and brought the glass to his lips. He rolled the liquor in his mouth, pleasure lighting his eyes as he appreciated the taste.

His casual stance emanated indifference and arrogance. He thought he was in complete control, that he was above reproach.

“Good scotch?” she asked.

“Very. Distilled in 1939, it was introduced while World War Two was breaking out in Europe. It’s one of the earliest additions in The Macallan Fine and Rare series. It’s like drinking a piece of history. I paid ten thousand dollars for this one bottle. Do you know why?”

“Because you wanted it,” Hannah said. “And as you told me once, you always get what you want.”