“The only people who know about that particular transaction are Antony and myself. The information will never go anywhere else.”
“Good.” Landon Stark leans back in my chair. “Moretti is shifting blame from himself to point a finger at me, and I need to disappear for a while until it can be sorted out.”
“I’m sure we can accommodate you. Whatever you need is at your disposal. I’ll need a few particulars so we can assess your exact needs.”
“Whatever can be done efficiently. I don’t plan on visiting your family home for long.”
He’s clearly in a hurry, and though I understand the reason why, there’s something else going on that I can’t quite put my finger on. It must have more to do with his son than I realized.
The son who secretly obtained documents in his father’s name.
Why did Sebastian Stark secure those documents? Clearly, Landon knows about it now, but I don’t get the idea he knew about it beforehand. What did Sebastian do in his father’s name?
“I can get you the basics—driver’s license and passport—easily enough. If Canada is your destination, for instance, you shouldn’t need anything else. Those can be done in two hours, but they’ll look new. You’d want to be sure you give them a little wear and tear before you cross any borders. If you want something more comprehensive, as in a completely new identity for long-term use and also give us time to dirty the docs up, it will take a little more time.”
“Two hours is acceptable.”
“Rush jobs are expensive.”
“I don’t care about the cost.” Stark stares out the office window, his face darkening.
He doesn’t care about cost, which doesn’t surprise me, but he’s not even asking for the price. His mind is clearly elsewhere, and I’m sure it doesn’t have anything to do with the death of Joseph Franks. He has enough pull in Seattle to get the job done without leaving, so why is he in such a hurry?
Suddenly, I realize the answer to all my problems is sitting in my chair, and the resolution will be one that Cherry can live with.
“Mr. Stark, could I ask you a question?”
“You can ask.”
“Were you around when Franks negotiated a treaty between Roland Ramsay and Carlo Orso?”
“I know there was one back in the day,” Stark says. “I never bothered to look into the details.
“Well, to make a very long story brief, I was raised as an Orso, but Roland Ramsay was my birth father.” I don’t mention Cherry at all.
“I don’t see how this is relevant,” Stark says. “I’m not interested in your petty rivalries right now. Are you saying I should be dealing with another member of the family, then? An actual Orso?”
“Not at this time, no, but with the root of the conflict coming to light all these years later, I want it finished.”
“So, end it.” Stark shrugs. “Those who signed the treaty are long gone as well as anyone who actually cares. None of the major outfits will interfere in a war in your remote little town. As long as the document business continues, we have no vested interest in who runs this operation.”
“I want it ended without bloodshed.”
“Why?” He looks at me closely with piercing, calculating eyes.
“Because I’ve had enough of it. Consider it my final, charitable act before removing myself from the Orso family. I might not be a blood relative, but I’ve lived with this family my entire life, and I want to make sure they are safe and protected before I leave.”
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
“I want the Ramsays out of town and away from this family permanently, and I think we can come up with an arrangement—one that benefits us both.”
“Go on.” He leans forward and folds his hands on the desk.
“You need some time away as things get settled in Seattle, correct? May I assume that once that happens, you plan on running the organization in Seattle?”
“You can assume that.”
“You’re going to need allies.”