Chapter 7
By two in the morning, the mansion’s upper floor had been transformed into an impenetrable fortress.
Honora had been moved to the master suite in the north wing, bathed in warm water, dressed in fresh cashmere, and tucked beneath three layers of down blankets. Minnie refused to leave the room, sleeping curled like a kitten at the foot of the massive four-poster bed, her small hand firmly gripping the hem of her mother’s sleeve even in the depths of exhaustion.
Two armed operators from Everard’s personal security unit stood guard outside the reinforced oak doors, submachine guns resting against their chest rigs.
Down in the subterranean vaults beneath the wine cellar, the air was cold, damp, and smelled of stale limestone and diesel exhaust.
A single naked tungsten bulb swung from the vaulted ceiling, casting harsh, swinging shadows across the wet stone walls. Tied to two heavy iron structural columns sat Aurelia and Cassian.
Aurelia’s emerald dress was torn, her manicured hair hanging in disheveled clumps around her bruised face. Cassian’s right wrist was heavily bandaged with a crude tourniquet, his head lolling against his chest as he shivered in the damp draft.
The heavy iron door swung open with a rusty shriek.
Everard entered the cellar alone. He had removed his overcoat and suit jacket, wearing only his charcoal waistcoat, a tailored dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and his heavy leather shoes. In his left hand, he carried a heavy manila folder stuffed with bank statements, notarized deeds, and international wire transfers.
He tossed the folder onto a wooden workbench between the two pillars. It landed with a flat, heavy slap.
"Everard," Aurelia croaked, lifting her head. Her aristocratic arrogance had curdled into a desperate, feral hatred. "You can't keep us down here. Our lawyers have copies of the family wills. If we disappear, the trustees—"
"The trustees are currently sitting in the holding facility at my south terminal," Everard interrupted smoothly. He pulled a brass-headed wooden chair across the flagstones, sat down, and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Your private banker in Zurich had an unfortunate boating accident forty minutes ago. His hard drives belong to me now."
Aurelia’s lips parted, the color draining from her face until she looked like a corpse.
"You sold our family name for forty million dollars and a few brownstones in Back Bay," Everard said, looking at his sister with pure, clinical disgust. "You watched a three-year-old child weep for her mother for six months, and you smiled in her face every afternoon."
"She was nobody!" Aurelia hissed, spitting a fleck of blood onto the floor. "Honora was the daughter of an accountant! She had no right to the Vanderley trust! Our grandfather built this empire with blood and iron, and our father gave the sovereign keys to an outsider! We took back what belonged to us!"
"You didn't take anything," Everard said. "You scavenged like hyenas behind my back."
He turned his gaze toward Cassian, who was trembling so hard his teeth chattered against each other.
"Cassian," Everard murmured.
"Please, Ev..." Cassian wept, the tears washing dirt down his hollow cheeks. "Please... I’ll sign whatever you want. I’ll transfer the shell corporations. I’ll leave the country. Just don't put us in the river."
"The river is for enemies, Cassian," Everard said, standing up slowly. "You are not an enemy. You are an infection in my own blood. And infections are cut out."
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He reached into his pocket and produced a pair of heavy, black fountain pens and two legal documents detailing the unconditional, irrevocable surrender of all Vanderley family assets, trusts, and titles.
"Sign," Everard said, untying Cassian’s uninjured left hand.
