My family’s name came up on multiple occasions and a few businesses we were involved in. Ramada was far more invested than we’d thought. I took a picture and sent it over to Benito. I continued to scour the files. A few more names popped up, but one I saw just as much as our name scratched at the back of my head.

Dillan Mathews. It wasn’t my first time seeing his name or even hearing it. He was one of the few dealers working under our family. His track record was commendable. I checked over the books personally, and he hadn’t attempted to skim any money off the top. Not to mention he wasn’t involved with any of the gun shipments. What the hell did he have to do with any of this?

There were too many questions and not enough answers.

A low-end dealer’s name came up a few times. “Blake. Carter.” Both of them came over to me, ready for orders. “Find him.” I passed over the picture of Dillan Mathews.

Something told me to look further into him. I rarely ignored my instincts except when it came to a certain cop.

* * *

“Find him?”

Blake shook his head. “But we found out he was picked up a few months back.”

I gestured for them to continue and Carter picked up where Blake had left off.

“Dillan was picked up on possession and distribution charges. The case was air tight. They had someone willing to testify.”

“But?” My stomach tightened.

“The boss hadn’t put in a word for him to be cleared, and it was never reported. But Dillan went free the next day,” Blake said.

“Who was the witness?” I asked.

“Carl Rodgers, a meth addict. One of Dillan’s regulars.”

I scratched at my chin, the hair rubbing against my fingertips, reminding me I needed a trim. “What else?”

“He’s been making his payments like usual, but it’s never him anymore. His cousin said he hasn’t seen Dillan in weeks but was told to keep sending money.”

“The drugs?” My head was starting to hurt.

“Someone is selling them, but we couldn’t get the answers out of the cousin.”

“Couldn’t?”

Carter cleared his throat. “He didn’t have any answers.”

I grabbed a drink and poured it as I sat down. I preferred doing the torture myself, but I couldn’t be everywhere all the time. Carter and Blake were a few of our men that I knew were capable of getting answers when need be. I sipped my drink, the alcohol like liquid fire as it went down.

“Who was in charge of the bust?” I asked.

“Ramada and Chandler,” Carter answered.

I was up in seconds and moved some scattered books around before I found the file Benito had handed over to me. There, clear as day, was the last name on the lists. Aaron Chandler was thirty-six and was fired. Unlike Ramada, he didn’t get to keep the retirement package or even leave with pay. Everything they’d done together was placed on his shoulders. However, in the end, it was brushed under the rug, and he was able to go a free man.