“What do you want, Prescott?” She sounds almost defeated.
I place the water bottle on the concrete planter between us and take two steps back. “You looked like you could use it. Also, jumping from this height would be messy for everyone involved, especially the cleaning staff. Robert just power washed the sidewalk.”
Ruby eyes the bottle suspiciously before snatching it up. She cracks the seal and takes a long drink. Her throat works as she swallows, and I notice the subtle tremble in her hands.
“I hate your brothers,” she says flatly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “No offense.”
“None taken. They’re an acquired taste that I’m still acquiring after twenty-nine years.” I lean against the terrace railing, careful to leave plenty of space between us. “Hamilton can be… intense.”
She barks out a laugh that contains zero humor. “Intense? Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“What would you prefer? Domineering? Megalomaniacal? Pigheaded? I’ve been workshopping ‘pathologically competitive’ but it doesn’t roll off the tongue.”
That earns me a ghost of a smile, quickly suppressed.
Progress.
“And Percy’s not much better,” she continues, now pacing again. “With his perfect hair and his perfect models and his goddamn perfect smile, acting like he’s doing me a favor by designing beautiful buildings on land that isn’t his to develop!”
I nod, tracking her movement without appearing to stare. “Percy does spend an alarming amount on hair products. Our bathroom looks like a Sephora exploded.”
She stops pacing and looks at me directly for the first time. “Why are you here, Prescott? Did Hamilton send you to spy on me? Or are you recording this for some kind of sick Porkwell home movie collection?”
I wince. “Ouch. My surveillance systems are strictly for security purposes and market analysis.” I pause. “Though now I’m questioning some of Hamilton’s requests regarding the Pred Tracker—I mean, the Urban Wildlife Movement Analysis System.”
“The what?” Her eyes narrow dangerously.
“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” I adjust my glasses nervously. “I’m here because you seemed upset. Contrary to popular belief, not all Porkwell’s are sadistic land-grabbers who enjoy the suffering of others.”
Ruby takes another drink of water, studying me over the bottle. I try not to fidget under her gaze. Those amber eyes miss nothing.
“You know what happened,” she says. It’s not a question.
I nod. “The surveillance system is thorough. And soundproof stairwells aren’t actually soundproof when you have the right microphones.” I realize how creepy that sounds and quickly add,“Which I installed for security purposes only, but Hamilton has been… abusing the access.”
“Great.” She throws her hands up. “So the whole company knows I just—”
“No,” I interrupt. “Just me. Hamilton isn’t stupid enough to broadcast his indiscretions, and I don’t share the feeds.”
Ruby sinks onto a bench, suddenly looking exhausted. “Why does he want Wolfstone so badly? It’s not even prime real estate for your kind of development. The conservation restrictions alone make it a nightmare project.”
This is where I should lie. Where I should protect company interests and family loyalty. But looking at Ruby—genuinely confused and hurting—I can’t bring myself to do it.
“It’s not our top priority,” I admit. “The tech campus on the north side is where our real focus should be. Better ROI, fewer regulations, and our target demographic is already concentrated in the area.”
She looks up sharply. “What?”
“Wolfstone is Hamilton’s pet project.” I sit on the opposite end of the bench, keeping a respectful distance. “If it were up to me or even Percy, we’d focus elsewhere.”
“Then why—”
“History,” I say simply. “Your great-grandfather led the pack that drove our great-grandfather from his first settlement. The infamous Mud Creek Massacre of 1803.”
“That’s ancient history! And your ancestor was building on protected wolf territory!”
“According to wolf records, maybe. Our family chronicles tell a different story—that great-grandfather Porkwell purchased that land legally from human settlers, unaware of wolf territorial claims. When he refused to abandon his straw-built homes, the local wolf pack attacked during the spring flood, when the creekwas at its highest. Seventeen pigs drowned, including our great-grandmother.”
Ruby’s expression shifts. “I’ve never heard that version. Our histories say the wolves only destroyed empty structures after multiple warnings were ignored.”
