Chapter 12
Nolan moved back into the estate for a while.
Not because he needed supervision.
Because Archie refused to let him leave.
“Uncle stay.”
Nolan looked at me.
I shrugged.
“Boss spoke.”
My brother laughed.
He slept in the guest wing with Bishop outside his door.
One night we drank whiskey on the terrace.
No suits.
No captains.
Just brothers.
“I thought you believed the message.”
“I did.”
He nodded.
“That hurt.”
I looked at him.
Fair.
“You told me not to follow.”
“Fake me told you.”
“I know.”
“But it sounded enough like me.”
“Yes.”
He stared at the glass.
“That’s worse.”
Because it meant we had built a relationship where distance was believable.
Nolan disappeared sometimes.
I let him.
Called it respecting independence.
Maybe sometimes I avoided difficult conversations because chasing him felt controlling.
Both.
“You were trying to warn me about Dahlia.”
“Yes.”
“I dismissed you.”
“Yes.”
No rescue.
Good.
Then:
“I also sounded paranoid.”
“You usually do.”
He laughed.
We sat in silence.
Finally I said:
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
“Accepted.”
Simple.
Then he looked toward the house.
“You know Archie saved me.”
“I know.”
“If he hadn’t recognized the watch…”
I did not finish that thought.
Neither did he.
Bishop had carried the signal.
Archie had understood it.
Dahlia had panicked.
A three-year-old noticing an object cracked the entire structure open.
Nolan smiled.
“Smart kid.”
“Don’t start succession talk.”
He groaned.
“God forbid.”
Then he became serious.
“What happens when Archie grows up and hears Vincent’s story?”
“He hears all of it.”
“Even Dad failing him?”
“Yes.”
“Even Dahlia hurting Archie?”
“Yes.”
Nolan nodded.
“No saints.”
“No.”
“No monsters either?”
I thought.
“Some people behave monstrously.”
Different.
“But stories stay accurate.”
That was the standard.
May you like
Harder than revenge.
Better.
