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158

It took about fifteen minutes, but Connor briefed Sebastian on the entire situation – land deal, solar company, politicians, blackmail, the works.

Sebastian sat on a couch opposite us, scrolling through the pictures on the iPad’s cracked screen. “Wonderful impulse control, Connor.”

“I was angry,” Connor retorted.

“I meant the photos, not the iPad. But now that you mention it, remind me not to make you angry,” Sebastian said as he tossed the tablet to the side. “Well… what do you want to do?”

“I want to hire a hitman to take out the lot of them,” Connor growled.

Sebastian shrugged. “I can make a couple of calls.”

“SEBASTIAN!” I cried out.

Connor looked up into the air. “Um, NSA, CIA, FBI? That was a joke. No hitmen are going to be called.”

“Well, I could,” Sebastian said, then sneered, “I hate that bitch.”

“You keep saying ‘bitch,’ singular, like Miranda’s the only one behind it,” I pointed out.

“While I’m sure the other bitch – excuse my language, Connor, I know how much you love and
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