Chapter 8
Leopold stood alone at the center of the grand entryway.
The high glass ceiling caught the late afternoon sun, casting long, geometric shadows of the steel frames across the floor. Sixty of the city’s wealthiest and most powerful citizens stood frozen against the walls, watching him with the terrified reverence reserved for an apex predator that had just finished a kill.
Leopold did not look at them. He walked over to the dessert table, where Cleo still stood beside the broken pieces of plastic, holding the damaged bear against her lace-trimmed chest.
He knelt down again.
With gentle fingers, he brushed a stray strand of golden-brown hair from her forehead. “Cleo.”
The little girl looked at him with wide, serious eyes. “Is Auntie gone?”
“Yes, sweetheart,” Leopold said. “She’s gone.”
“Is she going to take my bear again?”
“No,” Leopold said softly, his deep voice carrying a solemn, ironclad certainty. “Nobody is ever going to take anything from you again. I promise you.”
Cleo nodded slowly. She reached out and patted Leopold’s cheek with her small, sticky hand. “I want to go home, Daddy.”
“We’re going home right now,” Leopold murmured.
He stood up, scooped Cleo into his left arm, and settled her comfortably against his chest. She wrapped her little arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder, her cheek pressed against the dark wool of his overcoat.
Leopold turned back toward Garrick Vance.
Vance was trembling so badly he had to lean against the wall for support. His fair skin was gray, his breath coming in shallow, frantic wheezes.
“Leopold,” Vance croaked, his hands clasped together in supplication. “What… what happens to me?”
Leopold looked at him with flat, pitiless eyes.
“You have three hours, Garrick,” Leopold said.
Vance blinked, bewildered. “Three… three hours for what?”
“To pack one suitcase,” Leopold replied. “And get on the eight-fifteen train to Montreal. If you are still within the state borders when the clock strikes nine, Cassian will pay a visit to your townhouse. And he will not be carrying a subpoena.”
Vance’s knees gave out. He dropped onto the velvet bench where Verity had sat minutes before, his head in his hands, weeping in silent, pathetic ruin.
Leopold adjusted Cleo against his shoulder and began walking toward the grand brass doors.
As he approached the exit, the gathered crowd parted like the Red Sea, men and women flattening themselves against the potted palms and marble pillars, keeping their heads down, terrified that meeting his eye might bring his attention upon their own compromised ledgers.
May you like
Leopold reached the heavy doors. With a single push of his right hand, he shoveled the brass deadbolts aside and pushed the heavy glass portals wide open.
The cool, brisk October air rushed into the humid conservatory, carrying the clean scent of autumn leaves and damp asphalt. Outside on the circular driveway, three black armored Suburbans were already idling, their engines humming with low, vibrating power.
