Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I nod. “I’m having my paralegal draft up the paperwork right now. We have a good argument that you need the funds for a decent defense.”
Apparently, the trust holds a morality clause, and so when Alexei had been convicted, Lillian had been able to freeze the funds. Now that he’s been freed, I should be able to make those available to him.
I reach for a legal notepad. “How much are we talking about?”
He lifts one careless shoulder. “It depends on how well the fund has done while I’ve been in prison. I haven’t received statements. But there were about two billion dollars in it before then.”
I cough and look up, my eyes wide. “Two billion?”
He shrugs as if that kind of money is no big deal. “Yes.”
“Man, we live a different life,” I mutter, making notes on the notepad. “All right, in your own words, tell me what happened from the night before to the morning that David Fairfax was killed.”
Alexei, quite understandably, had not testified, nor had he said a word to the police, according to the police reports I have already read through.
His fingers drum quietly on the heavy mahogany conference table, and he looks up to stare at Blythe Fairfax’s picture. “I worked with Garik at the bar that night. We were drunk. We sang some tunes. Blythe met me there, we went back to her place, and I stayed the night.”
I lean back in my chair, inexplicably and unreasonably jealous. “How long did you date?”
“Date?” He chuckles. “We didn’t exactly date.”
I hold on to my patience with both hands. “All right. How long did you have a sexual relationship with Mrs. Fairfax?”
He sighed. “I don’t know, maybe three months. It wasn’t serious.”
“Three months is a long time for you, as far as I can tell from my research,” I say. “The relationship must’ve been somewhat serious.”
He glances away from the picture and back at me, piercing me with those dark eyes. “Maybe. I wasn’t planning on marrying her or anything, but there was something more there than usual.”
I ignore another unreasonable spurt of jealousy. “What happened that night?”
“Like I said, we went back to her place, fucked all night, and I got up and left in the morning.” His voice hardens.
Does he still care for her? “How did you get home?”
“My bike. I followed her from the bar to her place.”
I cock my head. “You ride a motorcycle?” Not only hadn’t I read that fact in any of his files, I never noted it in media write-ups about him.
“Yes.” His jaw appears made from stone.
So the bike is a sensitive issue to him? Who is this man? “Where was Mr. Fairfax while you were fucking his wife all night?”
My crude repeat of his words has his lips curving again. “Fairfax was out of town at a business meeting. Well, at least we thought,” Alexei says evenly, looking like a lounging panther in a chair. One not quite tame.
I take a calming breath. “Okay. What time did you leave that morning?”
“Around six. I headed to my place, showered and changed before going to work and charging the crystals at Hologram Hub.”
“How often do you need to charge those crystals, and how long did the process take that time?”
He looks up and to the left, as if trying to remember. “The crystals require recharging every two weeks, absent a cyberattack or a system overload. Then they require more attention, obviously. That time? I stopped in my office, read through some financials, then went down and charged for about an hour.”
“So we’re talking, what, maybe about eleven o’clock is when you finished?” I scribble the timeline into my notes.
“Around that,” he says.
I look up, curious. Alana has always remained tightlipped about the process, and Alexei seems more open to discussion. “Does charging the stones drain you?”
“No. It’s an exchange of energy, meaning I end up charged as well. I feel stronger the second I connect.”
Fascinating. “What happened after you charged the amethysts that day?”
“Then I received a text from Blythe saying she was at Pilates and asking if I wanted to meet her at her place for lunch.”
The way he said the word caught my ears.
“Lunch,” I say sarcastically.
His grin shows sharpened teeth. “We would have eaten at some point.”
This guy really is an asshole. I fight the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose because a headache is definitely coming my way. “So what then?”
“Since this was a customary practice of ours, I jumped on my bike, and I headed to Blythe’s.”
“Was she at home when you arrived?”
He steeples his fingers beneath his chin, giving him a contemplative look that somehow appears dangerous. As if he’s plotting. “You know she wasn’t, if you’ve already read the files.”
“Then how did you get in?”
“I knew the gate code,” he replies smoothly. “I opened it and drove up to the front. I also knew the front door code, and I walked inside.”