Oliver had lied to everyone.
It wasn't Steven that kept him here—it was Raymond. A quiet, urgent request that had clawed at the back of his mind since the moment it was made. After lunch with Vicky, he drove straight to the high-end hotel where Raymond had holed up after walking out of prison.
The moment he stepped into the lobby, two of Raymond's men appeared, their presence impossible to ignore. They didn't speak. They didn't have to. They escorted him to the elevator, going to Raymond's suite.
The suite was drenched in muted daylight, the city sprawling beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Raymond stood in front of the glass like a shadow carved from sunlight, a whiskey glass dangling from his fingers, in the middle of the day.
Oliver cleared his throat, his voice breaking the taut silence. "You wanted to see me?"
Raymond turned slowly, his gaze fixed on Oliver with an intensity that bordered on obsession. "How much, Ollie?"
