Queen of Lies (Empire of Lies 2)

“I must have missed that.” I walk over to his desk and pick up one of the rare cigars from his Tinder box. “You still collect these?”

I don’t wait for him to answer. Instead, I pull a lighter out of my pocket and place the cigar into my mouth. I take a long drag and debate whether I want to take a few of his cigars with me on the way out.

You have very good taste, Dr. McAllister.

“Did you not hear me say that you need to leave my office, sir?” He walks over to me and crosses his arms. “I believe I asked you very nicely.”

“It’s amazing how easily you’ve been able to take your business to the next level after all these years.” I walk over to the far wall, pretend to admire all of his framed certificates and medals. “I bet you’re very proud of yourself.”

“I am…” He stares at me, looking completely confused.

“I bet you’d be even prouder of yourself if you didn’t wake up every morning with the guilt of what kept you in this business,” I say, putting out the cigar and tucking it into my jacket. “I bet your clients would scatter like roaches, if they knew who you really were and what you were doing twenty-five years ago.”

“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Denial isn’t helpful, Doctor. You used to tell me that all the time…” I walk over to a huge black case on the wall, where he keeps a custom diamond beretta pistol.

“Please don’t touch that.” He holds up his hand. “It’s a classic beretta. It was handcrafted just for me.”

“Is it loaded?”

“Of course, it’s loaded.” He rolls his eyes. “Please, don’t—” He lets out a sigh as I take it out of the case, as I run my finger over its beautiful, diamond-studded trigger. “Look, whoever you are, I really don’t have time to play these games. I’ve honestly never seen you a day in my life, and I’d like to continue doing so.”

“You were never a frequent visitor at 347 Holden Lane Avenue twenty-five years ago?” I say, and his face immediately pales. “Never spent significant time with two identical twin brothers named Michael and Trevor?”

He gasps and takes a step back.

“This is the part when you admit that you do know me,” I say. “That you knew me long before I ever became an unfortunate client of yours. You can also admit that you spent most of our sessions trying to convince me into believing what did and didn’t happen.”

“I was a bad social service director then.” He swallows. “I would never treat you the same way now as I did then.”

“Because you moved on to others.” I look around the room, making sure this scene will look exactly how I want. A random murder in the middle of the day. “You thought that if you just stopped and tried to become a World Renowned Child Specialist, that it would erase all of the things you did before. It fucking doesn’t.”

He’s peeing his pants, shaking and attempting to grab his cell phone from his pocket.

“I’m usually civil about these types of things,” I say, moving his picture frame a little to the left. “But for you, and because of all the damage you’ve gifted me, I’m going to make one hell of an exception.”

“I’ve asked you to leave my office three times now,” he says, his voice wavering. “Don’t make me call the police.”

“You know what?” I pull my burner phone out of my pocket. “I think that’s a great idea.” I dialed 9-1-1 and made sure to hit the speaker button so he could hear.

“9-1-1, emergency response,” the operator’s soft voice fills the room. “What’s your emergency?”

“I just heard a lot of gunshots in a building on Billionaire’s Row,” I say. “I think it came from one of those fancy therapy offices, so some officers may want to check that out.”

“Can you tell me exactly where you—”

I end the call and Dr. McAllister’s face is now ghost-white. He holds up his hands, looking like he’s about to beg for forgiveness.

I don’t give him a chance to say another word. I aim the beretta at his chest and unload the clip faster than I’ve ever unloaded on anyone before.

Eleven rounds. Eleven bullets.

His body hits his desk, and then the floor with a sickening thud. Blood splatters all over the plain walls, coating pieces of the hardwood floor in a bright red.

Walking over to him, I set the gun down on top of his chest. “You deserved more bullets than that,” I whisper. “I let you off far easier than you let me and Trevor…”

Taking his cigar collection, I move through the back halls of the office and take a freight elevator down to the lobby. The guests are running and panicking at the sound of sirens, and the security guards are blocking the elevators.