Enne peeked outside at Roy, already diligently turning the dial of a desk phone. “I don’t know. Your man seems just fine.”
Enne expected Grace to curse and deny it like she usually did, but instead she shrugged and returned to her papers. “Yeah, I guess he is.” A smile played on her lips.
For the next twenty minutes, Enne bitterly returned to her romance novel.
This is what you wanted, she reminded herself.You wanted to be inconsequential, and so that’s what you are.
Maybe celebrating like Grace had suggested would help. But the reason she’d avoided a party in the first place wasn’t because she was miserable about Levi, but because it was her first birthday since Lourdes had died. And even if most days she was fine—missing her, but fine—some days, every breath she took felt like a knife in her side.
Twenty minutes later, Roy returned with the papers Grace had given him, Charlotte at his side. “You’re gonna want to hear this,” he declared. “The phone numbers listed for these companies are different. But when I called at first, I didn’t get through—the line was busy. But Charlotte did. And I didn’t manage to speak to anyone until her call finished.”
“And I listened in,” Charlotte continued. “We spoke to the same woman.”
“If we traced all these numbers, I’d bet a kilovolt they go to the same location,” Roy said.
“You’re saying all these companies are actually the same?” Enne asked. “But why?”
“Because someone is trying to cover their tracks,” Grace said, licking her lips and leaning forward. She had that glimmer in her eyes she always got when she’d found a new puzzle. Sometimes, Enne found Grace more intimidating like this than when she brandished a blade.
“Why? Because they own a lot of properties?” Enne asked.
Charlotte furrowed her eyebrows. “When were the properties acquired, Grace?”
Grace flipped through her papers. “All within a few months of each other, beginning in February of last year. So twelve months ago. Is that significant?”
Charlotte sighed. “I guess not.”
“The boardwalk is on the North Side, right?” Enne asked, and the three others nodded. “If someone is covering their tracks, that means they’re likely illegitimate. And on the North Side, that probably means—”
“No gangsters of the North Side ever had that kind of voltage,” Grace interrupted. “We didn’t even when we ran the stock market.”
But the more Enne thought about it, the more underhanded it seemed. When she’d arrived in New Reynes, the North Side had been neatly divided. The Factory District had been Scarhand territory. The Deadman District belonged to the Doves. And the Irons had claimed Olde Town and the Casino District. The only reason Enne had been able to take hold of the Ruins District was because no one lived there, no one wanted it.
Which meant, to anyone grappling for more power in the City of Sin, the boardwalk represented an opportunity.
“If you spoke to someone, then the properties hadn’t belonged to Reymond,” Enne said, thinking out loud. “Or Jonas. This operation is ongoing.”
“I don’t think that’s—” Roy started, but Enne cut him off.
“It doesn’t sound like the Doves. That’s not their style.”
Her mind raced, trying to pluck a name out of her memory, someone with a vested interest in building an empire. She immediately though of Bryce’s game and the twenty-two people he’d deemed the players of this city. Aldrich Owain, Jamison Hector, Harrison Augustine... There were plenty of those in the South Side whom Enne didn’t trust. There was Bryce and Rebecca, she supposed, but she’d visited the Orphan Guild on more than one occasion—she doubted they had that kind of voltage. And there was the Bargainer, who’d been forbidden from New Reynes for two and a half decades. But Enne couldn’t decipher anyone’s motives. She couldn’t find her answer.
“It’s probably some wealthy South Sider trying to cover fraud,” Charlotte said flatly.
“Could it be...?” Roy glanced at Enne nervously. “Levi? He does own a casino there.”
“These were bought months ago. He didn’t have the volts,” Enne said. “I think we should investigate.”
“And tell the Chancellor what, exactly? That you went running the moment something smelled gangster?” Grace shook her head. “Absolutely not.”
Then the door to their conference room swung open, and Marcy stood there, a dark coffee stain down the front of her blouse, clutching a notepad. Her already large eyes went wider. “You’re not g-going to believe this,” she sputtered. “Threeof the properties we own the mortgages to on the boardwalk caught fire last night. They burned to the ground—all of them.” Marcy slapped her notepad on the table and slid it toward Grace. But Enne snatched it first.
“Brint Water Holding Company,” Enne read. “And Tropps Street Realty.” She glanced at the others smugly. “Still think this is just simple fraud?”
Grace pursed her lips, then she leaned back in defeat. “If it is, it’s really bad fraud.”
“Someone has been quietly buying all these properties,” Enne said. “And someoneelseknows about it. It’s sabotage.”
