Legacy of Lies (Empire of Lies 3)

I say nothing as we take it down to the bar on the fifth floor, as Trevor slips the bartender a fistful of hundred dollar bills in exchange for “coming whenever we need you, and telling everyone else to get the hell out now.”

We take a seat in a booth near the back, and as he checks his phone for messages, I check mine for any new media updates on Meredith.

Something really is wrong with me…

“Where are we on the Harrington job I gave you?” Trevor asks, looking at me. “Did you pick up the dry cleaning?”

“I forgot about it,” I say, setting a key on the table. “But I did handle Mr. Ruth. You need to have one of the underlings retrieve his body from a barrel in a storage unit. Forsythe Street in New Jersey, unit 234.”

“Okay, so you’re not completely off your shit this week…” He picks it up and places it into his wallet.

He taps his fingers against the tabletop, signaling the bartender for the first round of beers. Then he orders four trays of bitter shots.

He waits until we’re alone again before taking a long sip, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Where are we on the research part of the Ware job?” he asks, finally. “Did you go to his apartment and set up the carbon monoxide gas to knock him out for the night?”

“No, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“You can’t do it tomorrow.” He shakes his head. “I already have someone on it, though, since he has a flight to Japan, remember?”

I honestly don’t, so I pick up a beer and take a few sips.

Trevor stares at me for several minutes, not saying a word, and I don’t volunteer any conversation.

“I knew that I should’ve gotten an underling to do the Thatchwood job from the very beginning,” he says finally, shaking his head. “The moment I knew it was going to be a conflict of interest for me, I should’ve never allowed you to do it. I should’ve never let you get involved, and you would still be the halfway sane person you used to be.”

“How the hell was it ever a conflict of interest for you?”

“Numerous reasons,” he says. “For one, telling you who the client was, the pieces and the plans. We agreed that you would always be in the dark, and the moment I let you into the light, you lost your fucking mind.”

I signal for the check. I’m not in the mood for this right now, and the sound of Meredith’s soft laughter is starting to play in my head.

“Wait.” He pulls my hand down. “Wait…I’m not judging you at all.”

“That’s what it seems like,” I say. “I don’t think either of us is in a position to do that, ever.”

“Listen to me,” he says, looking more vulnerable than I’ve seen him in a while. “Once you finish the final guy on our personal list, you’re going to be tempted to run back to her and beg for her to take you back.”

“I’m not begging her for shit.”

“You say that now.” He looks like he’s on the verge of tears for some reason. “But you will, because you love her. You shouldn’t, but you fucking do.” He pauses. “Anyway, once you go back and tell her who you really are and everything you’ve done, she’ll never look at you the same again. She’ll tell you ‘thank you’ for sparing her life, but she’ll say that she can’t bring herself to ever be with a murderer.”

“I’m not a murderer.”

“Equalizer, revenge-getter, champion for delayed justice, whatever,” he says. “It won’t matter. She’ll never be okay with everything you’ve done. And you can’t build a relationship on a foundation of lies, so telling her the truth is a must. I’m just letting you know what to expect.”

“Can you also tell me if you have some type of psychic abilities that I’ve never known about? It really would’ve come in handy when we were younger.”

“I don’t.” He shakes his head. “I’ve just had a similar experience, and I never told you about it because you always said that I was too damn emotional.”

I raise my eyebrow.

“I’m just trying to save you from feeling any more pain.” He looks away from me. “I tried to do what you did before—save a target who I loved, but it didn’t work out.”

I lean back against the booth, confused as to why he’s waited until just now to mention this.

“Which job was it?” I ask.

“A woman named Ali Carter,” he says. “Two and a half years ago. The Rhode Island tryst.”

I nod, remembering that one. A simple drowning by request, a four-million-dollar payday.

“You told me that you finished that one faster than any job you’d ever done before,” I say. “You told me that it was one of the easiest paydays ever.”