Ashes (Web of Desire #3) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,21

pushed the bill to loosen regulations on offshore drilling, Elliott utilized Ivanov Construction to build the manufacturing plant. There was more to that.

“After Elliott built it, he leased it to a technology firm. The plant manufactures tablets, off brand. They go on the market with multiple names.” He scoffed. “And sell for a wide range of prices. Originally the plant hired five hundred blue-collar workers and eighty-two management positions. That was four years ago. McFadden helped to negotiate some sweet deals for this manufacturer in Cook County. Basically, they’ve been sitting there, raking in the revenue, tax free. Hell, a mom-and-pop store paid more in taxes. That deal is about to expire.”

“And Elliott’s goose that laid a golden egg is now sitting in a penitentiary,” I said, grateful for the new train of thought.

“I made a few calls,” Sparrow said. “The manufacturer’s lease is up in two years. It would save them more to break the lease than pay taxes. The board of trustees has threatened to relocate if their tax deal isn’t renewed.”

Mason nodded. “Which leaves Elliott Inc. holding the bag.”

Sparrow nodded as the plane began its descent. “It’s a twelve-thousand-foot factory, an attached twenty-thousand-square-foot warehouse, and fifteen thousand feet of office space. It’s a big-ass facility to have sit empty, especially when there’s still a nearly $200 million outstanding balance due to Ivanov Construction. On a hunch, I called my mother.”

We all smirked.

“Yes, I know,” Sparrow said, acknowledging what we all knew—he and his mother weren’t on the best of terms.

It wasn’t as if they had ever been, but she was still having issues with Sparrow’s wife. Or more accurately, Araneae didn’t put up with Genevieve Sparrow’s shit. The queen regent was having difficulties accepting not only the marriage, but Araneae’s place in the Sparrow realm.

“I could say that I called Alderman Sparrow,” Sparrow corrected. “She confirmed that Marion Elliott has been lobbying for the extension on the exemptions. So far, he’s having difficulty gaining support. For the most part, people are steering clear of anything with a Rubio McFadden signature.”

“How does this relate to Madeline?” I asked as the wheels bounced on the runway.

Sparrow shook his head. “Elliott hasn’t come to me.”

“And if he has a snowball’s chance in hell to get it passed,” Mason said, “he’d need your approval.”

“What if he thinks marrying my long-lost sister would give him an in?”

The corner of my mouth threatened to move upward. “Was that just an admission of relation?”

“It was a hypothesis,” Sparrow clarified.

Reid spoke again through the screen. “Damn. Go get Madeline and we’ll figure this out.”

“Is she still at the jewelry store?” I asked.

“Yes, St. Pierre is taking his time. Our men have the interior secure. Madeline and a man with her—most likely a bodyguard—are waiting.”

“Exteriorly?” I asked.

“I’m watching in real time. The isolation of this store is in our favor. There is very little traffic and everyone so far has driven by. Our men convinced St. Pierre to close the store to other customers.”

“Convinced?” Sparrow asked. “These men deserve a bonus.”

“Once Madeline is safe, I’ll pay it,” I volunteered.

We all stood as Millie pushed the button near the door and waited as the cabin depressurized and the stairs began to descend.

Madeline

I watched as David again stood and made his way toward the rear of the store. His impatience was palpable, crackling through the air, tension building with each additional second we waited.

“Mr. Elliott was told you would rush this,” I heard him say to Mr. St. Pierre, from the attached room.

“Are you familiar with the oxidation process?” the jeweler replied.

“Sir,” a tall man who was standing near the doorway to Mr. St. Pierre’s work space said to David, “please have a seat. The ring will be done when it’s done.”

A few moments later, David returned, his expression solemn as he took a seat near me. The waiting room where we were seated was basic at best. Six black vinyl chairs lined two walls and a small square table sat in the corner, adorned with outdated magazines. I marveled that anyone still read paper publications. There was the door to the showroom, one to the work area, and a third to a small single bathroom. Near the suspended ceiling in the opposite corner from the table was a television. While I wasn’t a big television watcher, I thought even a nice HGTV show would help pass the time.

In all ways, the store appeared closed. While I’d seen merchandise in the cases as we walked through the showroom,