“Your timing is convenient,” I say.
“I’m not here to beg forgiveness. I’m here because I told the old man not to do this. He’s going to die anyway. Someone should try to save the girl.”
“Someone. Not you.”
“I’m not built for your kind of rescue,” he says. No shame in it. Just fact.
“Your affair with Trina,” I say, “was what? An intellectual exercise?”
“A professional miscalculation,” he corrects. He looks away and shakes his head, as if he realizes it was merely one of many small decisions that have led to this moment. “And let’s be honest. I wouldn’t mind seeing you take her down. Surviving an attempted murder will have that effect.”
“Then let’s cut to the chase. Tell me everything you know.”
“The plan is not just about Teresa. It’s also about Aleksander.”
“To kill him.”
“To make room,” he says, his hands now steady. “She’ll kill him, which will leave nearly everything to her. No Maxim, no heir, means she’s next in line. But there’s still the matter of the Winslow holdings. He was only ‘taking care of them,’ even though he had no intention of giving them back. But if he dies, that complicates things.”
“Meaning, the holdings go to Teresa and her brother.”
“Exactly. But with no Teresa and Jack on her side, she’ll be able to conquer it all.”
“And take the throne,” I finish.
The money man nods. I sit back, letting the geometry redraw itself in my head until the lines straighten and the angles make sense. The park ambush. The gala. Everything’s been about either trying to kill me, Teresa, or setting up a war.
“Why tell me all this?” I ask. “Why not just leave?”
He shrugs. “I haven’t led a very good life. But if I can give you a little information that saves the life of an innocent young woman and prevents a bloody war… maybe that’s something.”
“A little absolution on the way out the door.”
He grins. “And a little revenge. Listen, I don’t expect my soul to be cleansed. But maybe I’ll sleep a little better.”
“Proof,” I say. “Give me something to go on.”
He taps his phone and angles it toward me. Messages. Calendar entries. A photograph, grainy and dark, of an ambulance idling by a side gate. A location pin. A note with one word:tonight.
“The fact that they’ve kidnapped her means the plan’s already in motion,” he says, his voice quiet but sure. “That girl? She’s not supposed to live past midnight. Neither is Aleksander. Both are to be erased in one stroke.”
Dmitri leans forward. “Where?”
The money man exhales. “The Volkov mansion. Aleksander’s already there. They’ll call it a family purge. Tie up the old man’s grudges, crown the new heirs. They both die.”
For a moment, all I can see is Teresa’s hand on her stomach, the way her thumb traced slow circles over a life not yet born.
My attention returns to the man when he says, “They’ll play it smart, too. Make it look like Volkov died while trying to kill Teresa, a misfired gun, perhaps. It’s all bullshit, and the board will likely know it. But they’ll swallow the lie in order to keep things running.”
The money man gathers his bag and checks his watch. “Whatever’s coming, it gets decided tonight,” he says. “If Trinagets her way, Aleksander will be dead. Teresa too. And you… you might be left alive. Left to watch the Feds and your enemies eat away at what you’ve built until there’s nothing left.”
He rises and extends his hand to Dmitri, who flicks his eyes toward me. I nod, and Dmitri hands the money man his envelope. A small price to pay for information that could save Teresa’s life.
The man pockets the envelope with no pretense of shame. At the door, he pauses, glancing back one last time. “Good luck, Angeloff,” he says. “You’ll need it.” He turns and walks out.
Dmitri’s eyes find mine, cold steel under dim light. “Trina.”
He doesn’t have to say more.
