BACK AT THE Chicago Field Office, Donnelly sat in front of his computer and stared uncomprehendingly at his email. On the third read, he finally got that there was a mandatory meeting the next day at 3 pm. He put it on his Outlook and moved on to the next one.

His mind kept going back to earlier in the day to his get together with Siobhan of the House of McIver. Somehow, he doubted it went the way Patrick McIver would have wanted it to go. They both should have known better.

Focus. This email was about new procedures for expense reporting. He made a note about it in his daily journal. Everybody thinks being an FBI agent is all kicking in doors and shooting people. Mostly, it's unending chain of email. He moved on. The next email was a reminder about the upcoming annual benefits sign up.

His mind drifted back to Siobhan. Her brother had been right; she was in trouble. It broke his heart. It made him angry, too, how she was facing it by ignoring it, but mostly, it broke his heart.

She'd grown up in the time since he'd last seen her. Thinned out. Lost her baby fat. She looked beautiful, but at the same time, she looked awful. Underneath the expensive dress and expertly applied makeup, it was clear she was struggling. It was all he could do not to take her in his arms and tell her it would be okay.

But would it? He opened the McIver file on Livingston and re-read it for the 1000th time.

The Livingston family is the third wealthiest family in the United States. The family owns 95% of Livingston Industries,  which makes it the nation's largest privately owned corporation. All family members are direct descendants of William Livingston, a third son of a British aristocrat, who emigrated to the United States in the early 19th century.

The Livingstons were first farmers before incorporating their business after the Civil War. The exact wealth of the Livingston family is unknown because they operate a private business with no obligation to report their wealth. According to Forbes, the family counts 20 billionaires among its members, which is more than any other family in the world, including royal houses.

The Livingston family is divided into three branches. The Arthur Livingston branch oversees the family's agricultural concerns. The Pierce Livingston branch oversees minerals and oil refineries. The Malcolm Livingston branch oversees its arms and munitions division.

After the unexpected death of Jackson Livingston, Alexander Livingston became CEO of the arms and munitions division. He was 28 years old.

The synopsis closed with a picture of Alexander Livingston, taken last year, in military fatigues and walking next to an old man in a tan uniform with lots of medals on his chest. 

So, he's an arms dealer. That's a pertinent fact that would have been nice to know beforehand. Donnelly rubbed his forehead. Who the hell are these people?

The first recorded meeting between Alexander and Siobhan (FitzEdward six) occurred at age twelve, during one of the company picnics. Images of the even show her, her brother Sean (FitzEdward three), and Livingston talking briefly. No other contact was reported until...

The PDF jumped from there to an incident when Siobhan was age 15. Something was redacted, Donnelly thought. Someone didn't want full disclosure.

At age fifteen, Siobhan reported to her guardian, Patrick McIver (FitzEdward two) that Alexander had propositioned her during a Christmas party hosted by the Livingston family trust. After an internal investigation, it was determined that Siobhan misunderstand Alexander's remarks; however, both families agreed that separation would be best until Siobhan reached her majority.

Donnelly scrolled to the next page. The next page was Livingston's rap sheet. Funny how all of this was never reported in the media.

1. Mary Keaton, Housekeeper: At age 16, Livingston was charged with the rape and murder of Mary Keaton, a 20-year-old housekeeper to the Livingston family. Charges were dropped when DNA evidence was found to arrest a local famer whose land was subsequently added to Livingston Agricultural.

2. Elizabeth Massey, College Student: At age 21, Livingston was charged with the murder of college student Elizabeth Massey, who was found dead of blunt force trauma after being reported missing for five days. Charges were dropped when her ex-boyfriend confessed to the crime. (N.B. The ex-boyfriend's parents were under investigation for tax fraud and identity theft. All investigations into the family ceased after his confession and conviction).

3. Irina Palonova: At age 25, Livingston was charged with the murder of Russian national Irina Palonova, but the charges were dropped when new evidence was found to convict her roommate, Anna Lutz.

4. Chelsea Steeler Livingston: Also, at age 25, Livingston was charged with the murder of his wife, Chelsea, after an accidental shooting. Charges were dropped when prosecutors couldn't prove Livingston was actually at home when the shooting occurred. The case was closed when the prosecution accepted an independent coroner's report stating the bullet wound was self-inflicted.

Donnelly took a drink of tepid coffee. Either Livingston was a sloppy killer, or for every one of these women, there were ten women he murdered without any charges. He scrolled down to a picture of Livingston and an unknown woman at a formal dinner. Donnelly enlarged the image. The woman's dress had a low-cut back; Livingston had slipped his hand underneath it. Her smile was masked outrage; his smile was utter arrogance.

No. He wasn't sloppy. He wasn't sloppy at all.

"Donnelly! Haven't spoken to you in a while. How are you?"

Surprise made Donnelly jump and look up. Associate Director Richard Hannigan hovered over his desk, a congenial smile on his face. Hannigan was in his late forties and still had his own hair. Reasonably fit, too. Married, with the 2.5 kids and golden retriever, plus a girlfriend he kept on the side somewhere, if you believed the rumors. Donnelly X-ed out of the file and matched his congenial smile with one of his own. "Director! Nice to see you. Did we have a meeting?" He allowed his voice to trail off. "If so, I apologize... getting caught up on paperwork."

"No, no." Hannigan waved his hand dismissively. "I was only checking in." He glanced over at Donnelly's monitor. "What are you working on?"

"Emails," Donnelly replied. "You know."

Hannigan groaned. "I do know. Never ends."

"No, sir."

Hannigan nodded and folded his arms.

Donnelly maintained his pleasant expression. "Was there anything else, sir?"

"As a matter of fact, there was." Hannigan paused a beat. "You didn't happen to see Siobhan McIver today, did you?"

Well, now. If Hannigan was asking, it was because he already knew the answer. "Yes, sir, I did, see Siobhan McIver today. I ran into her at Millennium Station, in fact. Bought her a Starbucks for old times' sake."

Hannigan's eyes narrowed. "I didn't realize you lived in that direction."

"I don't. Stopped at Macy's first. Needed new unmentionables." Donnelly paused. "Sir."

Harrigan studied him. "So, let me ask you. When you saw Miss McIver, did you think that was wise idea to approach her?"

Hindsight being what it is, I'm thinking no. "I didn't see how it could hurt," he replied. "Best to be on good terms with people when you can, wouldn't you agree, sir?"

"Normally, I would, but this time, I can't agree." Hannigan cocked his head. "Siobhan McIver nearly got you fired."

Nothing irritated Donnelly more than people placing the blame of his punishment onto Siobhan. "Sorry, sir, but I respectfully disagree. I nearly got me fired, sir, and I assure you—"

"Donnelly, don't." Hannigan leaned down. "Listen to me carefully, son. Stay away from the girl. She's not for you."

Donnelly blinked. What the hell is that supposed to mean? "Sir, she's not for anybody. She's a person. She's for herself."

"What I mean, Donnelly, is that the rich aren't like you and me," Hannigan paused. "Get it?"

Donnelly pushed his chair back a smidge. "I can't say I do."

"Oh, God, you woke millennials crack me up." Hannigan stood up and squeezed his shoulder. "Donnelly, I like you. What I'm trying to say is, don't tank your career over this nothing girl."

"Respectfully, sir," Donnelly replied, straining to keep his tone pleasant, "but she's not a nothing girl."

Hannigan's lips turned up, but the smile didn't return. "Right. Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, there's a shit ton of boxes that have come in downstairs from Solera Banking. I'm going to need you to go through them."

Donnelly shook his head, to clear his ears. Maybe he misunderstood. "Wha..b-but, sir, I was going out with the unit to serve a warrant—"

"Not today. Those boxes need logging, and you got an eye for that kind of thing." Harrigan knocked on his desk, then left the cubicle. "Sooner you do it, the sooner it gets done."

Donnelly took a few deep breaths. How about that. I just got benched for buying a girl a Starbucks.

He closed out the McIver file and put it back in the Miscellaneous folder, which he promptly trashed and deleted. Deletion didn't mean it was wiped from the system; that took about a week. But he'd marked it a data usage report, and put it in a deleted file with hundreds of data usage reports, so hopefully, nobody would notice it.

"Donnelly? You coming?" His partner, Khaled Naser, stuck his head into his cubicle. "We gotta go."

Donnelly shook his head. "Sorry, buddy. Hannigan reassigned me. Gotta log the boxes downstairs."

Naser frowned. "You serious?"

"As a myocardial infarction."

"Dude." Naser looked sympathetic. "How'd you piss him off this time?"

Donnelly shrugged. "Breathing?"

Naser nodded. "That'll do it. You might want to cut back on that."

"Noted."

"Okeydokey, then. I'll do my best to not hog all the glory." Naser patted the cubicle's side. "Don't get too crazy down there."

Donnelly pointed a finger at him. "Don't tell me what to do, boyo. I'll tell you what to do, and that's to go, and administer justice on behalf of the American people, young man."

"I'm just thinking of you, and the paper cuts, son. The paper cuts." Naser saluted and jogged out. "The paper cuts!" he yelled before the door slammed.

Donnelly chuckled. It's all good. A job's a job. He stood up, put on his suit jacket, and headed downstairs. After all, the sooner you do something, the sooner it gets done.

___ *** ___ *** ___ *** ___ *** ___

Alex Cosetino is not in this book. I loved him, too, but I didn't like him as a character in this version. You can find his backstories on my blog, www.lizcharnes.com, along with my other FlyGirl stories and other content.

This new Alex is way worse. You'll learn more about him soon.

Thank you so much for staying with the story. I would love to hear from you, so please feel free to leave a comment. Also, if you liked it, please remember to vote.

©Copyright Liz Charnes February 2020

This work is protected by copyright and cannot be copied or used in any way without my express consent. Please don't steal it. Thank you!