Chapter 8 - THE UNCLE WITH PERFECT MANNERS
If Brandon felt like danger in a tuxedo, Malcolm Hales felt like danger in a boardroom.
He smiled more.
Raised his voice less.
Made every threat sound like a practical conclusion reasonable people had already accepted.
That frightened Fay more quickly than Brandon’s physical aggression ever had.
“Take your hand off my brother,” she said.
Brandon’s fingers remained on Owen’s shoulder.
Malcolm answered instead.
“That depends entirely on whether this evening stays cooperative.”
Griffin had not moved. His eyes never left Malcolm.
“You’re using Brandon Cole for field work now?”
Malcolm smiled faintly.
“You say that as if he isn’t standing right here.”
Brandon’s matching smile was colder.
“Don’t be offended, Mr. Hales. I’m honored to be insulted personally.”
Fay heard the shift immediately.
They were not servant and master. They were partners—or close enough to pretend convincingly.
Griffin said, “You killed June Avery.”
Brandon looked offended by the bluntness.
“Personally? No. Logistically? That gets fuzzier.”
Fay took one involuntary step forward.
Roman’s arm stopped her.
“Easy,” he muttered.
“Easy?” she hissed.
Brandon looked at her almost fondly, which made her want to hit him.
“Your florist friend made a costly choice,” he said. “She picked the wrong courier line.”
Malcolm’s gaze shifted to Fay’s face.
“June Avery was supposed to deliver the girl more quietly,” he said. “Instead, Brandon overreached in the ballroom, and here we are.”
Fay stared.
“You were using me before you even touched me.”
Brandon’s smile thinned.
“You were being used before I ever saw you.”
That landed because it might be true.
She thought of June telling her to wear the shears.
To keep them with her.
Whether June meant to protect Fay or sacrifice her had not been clear yet. Maybe it still wasn’t.
Griffin’s voice cut through the air.
“What’s the price tonight?”
Malcolm spread his hands slightly.
“At last, a professional question.”
Brandon nudged Owen forward just enough to make Fay flinch.
“The full ledger,” Brandon said. “The location Simon left. And anything else the girl remembers once she starts being honest.”
Fay’s pulse hammered.
“I don’t know anything else.”
Brandon laughed lightly.
“You remember enough. People always remember more when family is involved.”
Malcolm stepped closer to the grate in the floor and looked down into the darkness.
“My brother Dominic used to say records outlast affection,” he said. “He was right about that, if little else.”
Fay glanced at Griffin.
His jaw had gone rigid.
Malcolm continued, almost conversationally, “Dominic believed paper made him immortal. I told him paper makes men targets. He died clutching files. Simon ran. Griffin grew up. And now we’re all older and somehow still discussing the consequences.”
“You killed him,” Griffin said.
Malcolm looked at him steadily.
“I survived him,” he replied. “There is a difference.”
Intelligent villain, Fay thought wildly. Of course he’s the sort who argues his own sins like fine points of philosophy.
Brandon said, “We’re losing time.”
Malcolm nodded. “Quite right.”
He looked back at Fay.
“Miss Lawson, I’ll be frank in a way my nephew rarely is. Griffin wants the ledger because it gives him power. Brandon wants it because it threatens his family. I want it because I’m tired of dead men dictating active markets. But of the three of us, only one person here can find it quickly.”
“You.”
Fay realized too late she had answered Griffin, not Malcolm.
He did not look away from his uncle.
Roman’s hand shifted near the inside of his coat. Two of Griffin’s men mirrored the movement. Brandon’s men noticed. The whole winter rose house tightened like wire.
Malcolm smiled with visible disappointment.
“Please don’t do something theatrical, Griffin. If shots start, the boy dies first.”
Owen lifted his head.
“Don’t do it,” he said to Fay, voice hoarse but steady. “Whatever it is, don’t.”
Brandon struck him across the mouth so fast Fay screamed before she knew she was moving. Griffin caught her again, one hand hard around her forearm.
Malcolm looked mildly pained.
“Brandon.”
“He keeps talking,” Brandon said.
“Try not to ruin useful leverage.”
Fay shook with fury.
“I’ll go down,” she said.
Every head turned.
Griffin said, “No.”
Malcolm said, “Excellent.”
Brandon grinned.
Fay tore her arm free from Griffin’s grip and faced him fully.
“You said I remembered more when family was involved,” she told Malcolm. “Fine. If the clue is down there, I’ll find it. But my brother comes with me.”
Brandon laughed.
“No.”
“Then you get nothing.”
It was a gamble and she knew it. But Brandon needed her memory more than he needed to appear dominant for five extra seconds.
Malcolm studied her with cool interest.
“Your father had more of an instinct for pressure than I expected he passed on.”
He looked at Brandon.
“Untie the boy. He doesn’t leave the conservatory, but he goes down with her.”
Brandon’s displeasure flashed, then vanished.
“As you wish.”
He cut Owen’s wrist restraints.
Griffin stepped closer, low enough only Fay could hear.
“This is a terrible idea.”
“So kill them all and give me a better one.”
His eyes flashed—whether at the challenge or the truth, she couldn’t tell.
Then he said, very quietly, “If anything shifts, you follow Roman’s voice, not Brandon’s.”
Before she could answer, Malcolm spoke again.
“One more condition.”
He nodded toward Griffin.
“Only the girl and the brother go below. Griffin stays up here with me.”
Fay felt the trap closing.
That was the point, then.
Separate her from Griffin.
Separate Griffin from action.
Force choices in two arenas at once.
She looked at Owen’s bruised face, at the ladder vanishing into black, at Malcolm’s perfect manners and Brandon’s hungry patience.
Then, before anyone could stop her, she climbed down first.
Owen came after her.
And above them, the grate began sliding half-closed.
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The last thing Fay heard before darkness swallowed the opening was Malcolm Hales saying, almost kindly:
“Do hurry. I’ve waited thirteen years already.”
