Clee can’t stand any more of this. He lunges for his keyboard and fumbles for the key that will turn off the feed. Quinn calmly returns to his seat on the other side of the desk. After a few moments, Hannah’s voice is cut off. Both men sit in the office in silence.

“So the only people who know the truth are you and your team,” Clee finally says.

“That is correct. You hired us, we report directly to you.”

Clee nods. “I knew about this. Well, I didn’t know for sure that it was Hannah, though I should have guessed. She was always the more…rambunctious of the two.”

“Of course you knew,” Quinn says. “You also hired men to spread misinformation and offer bogus testimonies. And then you hired us to throw suspicion away from your daughters. You heard that we were the best, and that if you could convince the best that someone else killed Paige, your daughters would be safe.”

Clee puckers his lips a little as he considers this. “And you’re not going to keep this quiet, are you?”

Quinn smiles, then shakes his head. “Never try to sting a Stingray.”

Paul Clee shifts in his seat. “You know, Mr. Quinn, one of the advantages of having your own floor is that you can soundproof the walls to studio quality. Not a single noise will escape.”

Then he opens his drawer and removes a large silver revolver as if it’s nothing more than a tape dispenser or stapler. He points the gun at Quinn’s chest and shows his teeth, his expression somewhere between a sneer and a predator’s grin.

Chapter 36

QUINN (continued)

“Mr. Clee, you’re not thinking clearly,” Quinn says.

“On the contrary, I considered the possibility that your team would discover the truth. So I’ve planned everything to the last detail. Your body will be removed along with the rest of the office refuse. The chair you’re sitting in will be replaced, as well as the carpeting beneath your feet. Within the hour, everything will look brand-new. I have a very loyal staff. We’re like a family, really.”

Clee leans forward over his desk with the gun, as if to shorten the distance for the bullet that’s about to make its way into Quinn’s chest.

Quinn, however, remains motionless. “What about my team? They’re not going to let you get away with this.”

“Who? Your precious Stingrays? Without a leader, they’ll be easy pickings. If they’re still on the island, they’re as good as dead. You’re the slippery one, Mr. Quinn. But you’re not going to slip out of this.”

Quinn nods, then leans forward, too, mimicking Clee’s body language.

“After you kill me,” Quinn says, “I’d like you to do me a favor. Check your surveillance recordings from this very soundproof floor from…oh, somewhere between four and five o’clock this morning.”

“What? Why?”

Quinn shrugs.

Clee’s expression morphs from one of confusion to anger—all of which culminates in a roar as he pulls the trigger. But instead of a blast, there is nothing but a loud hollow snap of the hammer connecting with the firing pin. Clee looks down at the pistol in his hand as if it’s an employee who has disappointed him.