Chapter 29: Crown of Smoke: Chapter 29

I take one final deep breath before pushing through the glass doors of Kean Enterprises. The sleek marble lobby gleaming under bright lights is a far cry from the grimy underground boxing rings and dark alleys from my other Kean business encounters.

I’m not a complete idiot. I know coming here is a huge risk. But in the two days since I left Flint’s bedside, I’ve grown more frustrated by the whole situation. I hadn’t wanted to leave Flint, but I have a job and his brothers weren’t subtle about wanting me gone so they could conduct their own business. Again, I was blindfolded and whisked back home. Until a few moments ago, I hadn’t talked to or seen Flint. I’ve spent the last few days growing more irritated that my life was on hold because of the Keans.

So here I am, ready to put the final piece of the story together. I’m not dumb enough to barge in and start accusing Ronan and his family of misdeeds. No, I’ll be subtle. But once my story comes out, they won’t be able to continue to rain terror over this city. They’ll be too busy dodging legal actions and community outrage. At least that’s my plan.

The receptionist eyes me warily as I approach. ‘I’m here to see Ronan Kean.’

‘Do you have an appointment?’ Her perfectly manicured nail hovers over her keyboard.

‘Nope, but I have a deadline and I’m sure he’d like to have input on a story about his family’s spectacular success in Boston.’ I keep my voice steady despite being nervous.

‘One moment.’

While she makes the call, I scan the lobby. Security cameras track every movement. Two broad-shouldered men in suits who must be guards watch me with calculated interest. The pristine environment feels like a façade hiding something rotting underneath.

Flint’s warning echoes in my head. I know he’s right. This is dangerous. But I’m tired of living in fear. The Keans destroyed his family, and now they’re threatening mine before it’s even begun.

“Mr. Kean can spare you a few moments,” the receptionist says, handing me a visitor’s badge.

“Thank you.” My nerves vibrate more intensely. I think I half expected to fail in getting access.

As I step into the elevator, my phone buzzes again. Probably Flint. I silence it without looking.

The elevator climbs higher, and I straighten my shoulders, channeling all my determination. I’m a professional. So is Mr. Kean, at least here in his shiny office. Surely, I’m safe in a place that masks the ugly underbelly of his business.

I pull out my phone and turn on the recorder… just in case. I arrive at Mr. Kean’s floor, exiting the elevator and walking to the double wooden doors with his name on it.

‘Mr. Kean, thank you for seeing me.” I plaster on a friendly smile and thrust out my hand to shake his.

Ronan looks up from his desk, an amused expression on his face. At thirty, he looks smarmy, with perfectly styled blond hair and cold green eyes that assess me like I’m an insect that’s crawled onto his pristine desk.

‘Come in, Miss…?’

‘Ketchum. Lucy Ketchum.’

‘Please, have a seat.’ He ignores my outstretched hand, instead gesturing to the leather chair across from his desk. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘What brings you barging into my office uninvited today?’

I settle into the chair, forcing my hands to stay steady as I pull out my notebook. ‘I’m writing a piece about Boston’s most successful families. The Kean name is at the top of the list. You’ve had a meteoric rise to fame and fortune in the city.’

‘Meteoric?’ He leans back, adjusting his expensive tie. ‘I wouldn’t say that. My father worked hard to build this empire.’

‘Yes, but in just a decade. It’s remarkable, really, the kind of success story people dream about. Your story will inspire so many would-be entrepreneurs, but it’s surprisingly hard to get anyone to comment about how you did it.”

‘Perhaps people simply respect our privacy.’ His tone carries a warning.

‘That almost sounds like there’s something to hide.’

The amusement drops from his face for a split second before his practiced smile returns. ‘Miss Ketchum, if you’re suggesting something improper about my family’s success⁠—”

I wave my hand. “No, not at all. I’m impressed with your success. I just find it fascinating how quickly your father established himself, especially after the power vacuum left by the Ifrinn family’s tragic demise.’

His green eyes turn to ice. ‘You seem rather fixated on ancient history.’

‘Ten years isn’t that ancient. That’s the point. Ten years ago, did you imagine you’d be sitting here in this grand office, your family like royalty in Boston?”

“Of course. My father had a vision. We’ve achieved everything he set out to achieve. We did it through hard work and a strong vision.” His casual posture and easy smile feel calculated, like a snake coiled to strike.

‘See, that’s the insight the public will love. I don’t know that anyone else would have guessed the success your family would achieve. But hard work and a vision… I love that.” I tap my pen against my notepad. ‘Your father’s company expanded at an unprecedented rate, acquiring properties, businesses, securing major contracts, while those who were more established seemed to flounder. What did you do that you were able to achieve what they couldn’t?”

Ronan swivels slightly in his chair, completely at ease. ‘My father has always had excellent business instincts.’

‘And connections, I imagine. The right people backing him at the right time?’ I keep my tone light, curious rather than accusatory.

He chuckles, but there’s no warmth in it. ‘You make it sound so… conspiratorial. Sometimes, success is simply a matter of preparation meeting opportunity.’

‘Like the opportunity that arose after the Ifrinn tragedy?’

He stills, his green eyes narrowing, assessing. I force a smile, hoping he can’t see me shudder from the chill running down my spine.

“Why do you keep bringing up the Ifrinns? They were long gone by the time my father found success.”

“Really?” I make a show of referring to past pages in my notebook. “The timing seems to suggest that their tragic demise opened up those opportunities you just mentioned. Your father’s first major acquisition was the old Ifrinn shipping terminal, wasn’t it? At a remarkably low price, considering its strategic location.’

‘Market conditions were favorable.’ His smile remains fixed, but his eyes have turned to green ice. ‘Though I have to wonder why a simple business profile requires so much… historical context.’

I shift in my seat, hyper-aware of how alone I am in this office. ‘The public has questions, Mr. Kean. Wouldn’t you rather address them directly than let speculation continue?’

The temperature in the room seems to drop. His shoulders tense, and the casual demeanor evaporates like morning mist. “What speculation? Who exactly have you been talking to, Miss Ketchum?’ His voice carries an edge that makes my skin prickle.

“Oh, you know. Various sources.”

He rises from his chair, and though his movements are smooth, there’s nothing casual about them now. He sits on the edge of his desk, directly in front of me. ‘What are they saying?”

“Ah… well…” I glance at my notes although I’m not reading them. “Just how fast you were able to take control of formerly owned Ifrinn properties. How you put others out of business.”

“Names. I want names of those who’ve been spreading these… theories.’

“As a journalist, I protect my sources.’

‘Journalism.’ He spits the word like it’s poison. ‘A puff piece on a successful family isn’t journalism. Unless you’re digging into matters that don’t concern you.”

I swallow hard, noting this is the first real suggestion from him that not all the Kean businesses are on the up and up.

‘The public has a right⁠—”

‘The public,’ he cuts me off, ‘has no rights when it comes to my family’s private affairs. Now, I’ll ask again, who have you been talking to?’

My heart hammers against my ribs. Ronan Kean’s mask is slipping, revealing something cold and dangerous underneath.

I do my best to appear surprised by his reaction. “Mr. Kean, you’re well respected, I assure you. You don’t need to feel threatened by⁠—”

“Threatened?” He laughs. “You don’t scare me.”

“You seem concerned by what others have said about you.”

“Everyone is concerned about what others say. Reputation is everything, Ms. Ketchum.”

I nod. “I can understand that. It probably was a concern that a well-respected law enforcement member was killed outside one of your establishments. That could hurt a business’s reputation. Have you felt any impact from that?”

Ronan’s expression hardens. ‘It’s never good when a valued patron of a business is killed.’

‘Strange how the police ruled it a mugging when nothing was stolen. Did you know he was a detective ten years ago? He’s the one who ruled the Ifrinn fire was an accident.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate.”

I widen my eyes like I’m surprised. “Insinuate? Nothing. It’s just a strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re fishing in dangerous waters.” A less subtle threat.

“Oh… hmm. Okay. Well, you’ve established yourself over the last ten years after the Ifrinns’ demise, but their sons… they’ve never been found. Do you ever wonder what happened to them or if they’ll be back to try and restore their family businesses?”

Again, his green eyes bore into me like he’s scanning what’s in my brain. “No.”

“Not at all? I mean, of course they were quite young back then, but now⁠—”

“Have you talked to them?”

“What? Me? No. No one knows where they are.”

His smile is smug. “Right. If they’re still alive out there somewhere, we’d have seen them by now, don’t you think?”

“If? Are you suggesting they’re dead? A lot of people have died or disappeared⁠—”

‘Miss Ketchum.’ Ronan straightens, looming over me. ‘You seem to be making connections and leaps that don’t exist. I understand that my story is too boring, and you need to find some great conspiracy, but in doing so, you put yourself in hot water.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I won’t allow you to ruin my family’s name with your slander.” My mouth goes dry as he reaches for the intercom on his desk. The casual press of his finger feels like a death sentence. ‘Security to my office. Now.’

The calm in his voice terrifies me more than any shouting could. He releases the button and turns back to me, adjusting his cuffs.

“I think this interview is over.”

I stand on wobbly legs. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. Truly, I admire your success. It’s not boring at all.”

The door behind me opens, and heavy footsteps enter the room.

‘Please escort Miss Ketchum out.’ His tone is dispassionate, like he’s discussing the weather. ‘And ensure she understands the consequences of spreading baseless allegations about our family.’

Two security guards flank me.

‘Consider this a professional courtesy, Miss Ketchum.’ Ronan adjusts his tie, all business again. ‘Drop the story.’

The guards start steering me toward the door, and panic roars through me. The guards’ grip tightens as they guide me toward the service elevator and press the button for the garage instead of the main lobby. I’ve never felt more terrified as I realize this isn’t a simple escort out. They’re taking me somewhere private.

‘My car’s out front,’ I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

One guard just grunts. The elevator descends, each floor making my stomach drop further. I think of my phone in my purse. Is it still recording?

The garage is dimly lit as they march me toward a black SUV with tinted windows. My legs turn to lead.

‘Wait.” I try to pull back, but their grip is iron-tight. ‘You can’t just⁠—”

The rear door swings open like a mouth ready to swallow me whole. One guard shoves me forward while the other reaches for my purse.

‘Please,’ I whisper, my hand instinctively covering my stomach. “Why is Mr. Kean doing this? I don’t know anything.”

‘Get in.’

As they force me into the backseat, the full weight of my miscalculation hits me. The door slams shut with a terrible finality. Through the tinted windows, I watch the guards circle to the front seats.

One guard checks his phone. “Mr. Kean will meet us there.”

“Right.” The driver puts the car in gear and starts to drive.

Where is “there?” Wherever it is, I know that this time, Flint won’t be there to save me.