Chapter 7
I did not answer Elias immediately.
Silas hated that.
“He deserves confirmation.”
“No.”
“He lost his son.”
“So did Lila.”
He frowned.
“She’s gone.”
Exactly.
Dead mothers become easy to overrule because they cannot object in person.
I would not help them erase her wishes.
Silas stood.
“Bennett carries Mercer blood.”
“He carries cereal stains.”
Silas stared.
“He is three.”
“He will not stay three.”
“That doesn’t make him yours.”
There.
The sentence.
I stood slowly.
“Careful.”
Silas did not retreat.
“I mean politically.”
“I don’t.”
Silence.
He understood.
Then I asked the real question.
“What did you promise Elias?”
His eyes moved.
Enough.
“Silas.”
He exhaled.
“A meeting.”
“Between whom?”
“Caruso and Mercer.”
“Over Bennett?”
“Over stability.”
I laughed.
Again that word.
He promised Elias that if Mercer publicly recognized Bennett as Adrian’s son, Caruso would acknowledge a shared interest in the boy’s future.
Shared interest.
Adult language for ownership.
“And Troy?”
Silas admitted the Drake marriage was insurance.
If Mercer became too aggressive, I could quickly produce a biological Caruso child through Troy.
Then Bennett could be treated as Mercer-linked but not central to my own succession.
I stared at him.
“You planned children I haven’t conceived to neutralize the child I already have.”
He looked almost annoyed.
“You’re making it emotional.”
“Yes.”
I did not apologize.
“He is my son.”
Silas shook his head.
“This is why your father worried.”
Interesting.
“What did he worry about?”
Silas realized too late.
My father had apparently discussed Bennett with him.
He tried to recover.
“Nothing.”
I walked closer.
“Dad knew Adrian was the father?”
Silence.
That hurt.
My father died two years after Bennett came to me.
He never said anything.
“Did he know?”
“Yes.”
Another hidden room opened.
“What did he say?”
Silas looked away.
“He said if you chose the boy, Caruso would treat him as yours.”
My throat tightened.
Then why was Silas doing this?
May you like
Because my father’s answer had denied him the future leverage he wanted.
And dead men cannot correct living advisers who rewrite instructions after funerals.
