Peter Hale Novels & Stories

"Thank you, I shall see to that immediately." Getting the body was easy, she had a friend, Max at the morgue who gave her all the details she needed. The body she found was that of a man called Morgan Daniel. He was a twenty-seven-year-old convict that was serving for drug lifting. He had just recently died that morning and there was no family to come to claim his body. She paid Max off for helping to drop off the body and sent him on his way. The psychic made him a cup of tea before he left.

I fix myself. We park and exited the car. We enter the elevator and go to the 12th floor of the building. "Mr. Brooklyn!" An old man shouted. Hilary's dad and the old man bro hug each other and shake hands. "Here's my daughter Hilary." I bowed and shake hands. "And here's my son, Richard." A five-foot and nine inches tall guy wearing a mask extends his hand. I shake hands with him. "So let's talk about the wedding?" My eyes almost got out in my eye socket. "WEDDING!?"

“Just off the top of my head? Waverly Hills, Trans Allegheny, Eastern State Pen. All of them worth a whole season, and one heck of a season finale. And not like they wouldn’t have let you guys shoot on any of them because you hadn’t booked the slot. I mean, c’mon, you’re the bleep -ing Haunters.” I rested my elbows on my legs, my hands together against my chest, looking ahead at the Quabbin. “But he came back to Blotter Manor,” I said, like thinking aloud. “And he did it only to help me and an entity that had almost killed him.” I narrowed my eyes with a mild frown. “Tell me about guts. Tell me about heart!” I shrugged again with a smile I was grateful he couldn’t see because, to me, it was

“Should I dye my hair pink?” “Nathaniel.” “No, seriously.” I spread my arms. “Is that the requirement? Do I need pink hair?” Mr. Hale's jaw tightened. “You have no right to insert yourself into my business.” My smile disappeared. “Your business?” “Yes. Mine.” Mr. Hale's voice remained calm, but there was steel beneath it. “Whether I'm gay, who I spend time with, and what I do in my personal life has nothing to do with you.” I stared at him.

So Dad gets a huge project… then dies… and it goes straight to the Hales. She rubbed her temple and kept scrolling. “Hale Corporation on the verge of bankruptcy.” “Hale Corporation suspected to be tied to illegal dealings.” “CEO Jonathan Hale accused of mafia connections, illegal shipments under investigation.” Seraphine’s mouth went dry. “What the actual f**k…” Her finger hovered, then scrolled further. July 27th. “Tragedy: Businessman Maxwell Kane dies in car accident.” “Hale family steps in to support Kane’s widow and daughter.”

“For your kind information, the feeling is mutual, Mr Sterling.” He says nothing to that. Instead, he sets the cup down with deliberate care. “Any update on Hale?” I ask. “No,” he says. “That man is careful. But I do have good news.” I watch him closely. “Go on.” “Peter Smith and Sofia Hale are on our side now.” His eyes stay on my face, studying every reaction. “Peter agreed to the deal. He wants his children safe. That is all. He does not even object to you marrying Jennifer, as long as you behave yourself with her.”

“Men like him don’t play for money, they play for control. And he is spiking because he can tell she is new to this.” “I know,” I said quietly. “And he’s not the only one. We just need to be sure that she is safe.” When the call ended, I stood there for a long time, staring at the city through the glass. Valerie was finally finding her footing again, and now another predator was circling. I picked up my phone again and called Hunter. “Alpha…?” “Send word to Caleb,” I ordered, not wasting time. “He’s taking over as our shadow lawyer for Valerie’s firm. Rosalyn will brief him on the rest. And, Hunter…”

Emma sent back. She went back to the Webster file and worked until her phone rang at ten fifteen. An unknown number. She answered. "Ms. Parker." A man's voice. Smooth and careful. "My name is Gregory Hale. I am senior counsel at Pinnacle Entertainment Group." Emma's hand tightened slightly on the phone. "Mr. Hale," she said. "I understand you are representing Raines Webster in a claim against our company," Hale said. "I am calling as a professional courtesy to discuss whether there is a path toward early resolution that might serve both parties."

She wasn’t wrong. I spent the first two days of the seven reading everything Petra had on Hale. Property records. Financial structures. Known associates. I built a picture of him the way you build a picture of weather. Not from one cloud but from the pattern of them. Where things moved. Where things stopped. Where the gaps were. The gaps were interesting. There was a eighteen month period two and a half years ago where Hale’s personal spending dropped significantly. Not his business spending. That continued normally. But his personal accounts went quiet in a specific way. Like someone redirecting money somewhere they didn’t want tracked.

Something older and more complicated than that. “Catherine Hale,” he says. Nobody speaks. The name sits in the room like something that has been waiting a very long time to be said out loud. And underneath the kitchen island, out of sight, my hands are not entirely steady. Because Catherine Hale is Patricia Hale’s sister. And Patricia Hale signed an NDA with Victor Blackwood six years ago. And this is no longer a conspiracy that started fourteen months ago. This started long before any of us were looking.