Chapter 9
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Through the heavy oak entrance doors, the lock turned once from the outside. The doors swung open, and two Marwood soldiers entered the ballroom, their tactical black windbreakers dusted with powder burns, carrying two heavy tactical bags and four discarded assault rifles.
They dropped the weapons onto the Persian rug at Alaric’s feet with a dull, heavy clatter.
"Perimeter clear, Don Alaric," the lead soldier reported, breathing evenly. "Corvo’s vanguard is neutralized. The driver is alive in the trunk of the secondary vehicle, awaiting your questioning."
Winifred stared at the pile of rifles on the floor, her jaw trembling, her last shred of defiance shattering into dust. She sank down into the chair, clutching her stomach as if she had been struck with a sledgehammer.
Alaric stepped toward her. He did not raise his voice; he did not draw a weapon. He simply stood over her, his broad shoulders blotting out the warm light of the chandeliers.
"Stand up, Winifred," he said.
She did not move. Marco reached down, caught her by the arm, and hauled her to her feet like a rag doll, forcing her to face her uncle.
Alaric reached out with his right hand. His fingers caught the gold drop earring dangling from her left ear, twisting the clasp until the metal clicked open, pulling it free from the lobe. He did the same with the right. Then he took her Cartier watch from her wrist, dropping the jewels into the pocket of his overcoat.
"You are no longer a manager of this house," Alaric said, each word landing like an anvil. "You are no longer a director of the foundation. And starting tonight, you do not carry the Marwood name."
"Uncle... please," Winifred sobbed, falling to her knees, clawing at the hem of his dark trousers. "I made a mistake! I was scared! The Corvos threatened to expose the trust accounts—"
"You made your choice when you put garbage into a child's shoe," Alaric said, looking down at her with cold disgust. "Marco will drive you to the family convent in northern Vermont. You will live in the gatekeeper's quarters. You will scrub the flagstones every morning at five. You will eat bread and water. And if you set foot outside the boundary wall, Marco will not bring you back."
Winifred looked up, her face twisted with a mixture of terror and bitter, dying malice. She let out a ragged, choking laugh through her tears.
"You think this was my idea, Uncle?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "You think I had the connections to bring the Corvo family across the state line?"
Alaric went still. His eyes narrowed.
May you like
"Speak," Alaric said.
"The authorization codes didn't come from my office, Alaric," Winifred laughed hysterically, tears washing through the dust on her cheeks. "They came from London. From someone who carries your blood. Someone who said it was time for the old wolf to be put down."
