"Thoroughly investigated by prosecutors on your payroll. Ruled by medical examiners you bought off. Buried by officials who owed you favors." Peyton steps forward, and there's something magnificent about her fury channeled into precision. “And I bet if I do a little thoughtful digging, I can uncover every person you paid to orchestrate her murder, or was it one of your greedy kids who did the actual dirty work?”
For the first time, Edmund's composure cracks. Just slightly, just enough to reveal the calculation happening behind his eyes.
“You shouldn’t indulge in such conspiracy theories.”
Peyton smooths her hands down the side of her dress. “Since you know everything, you must already know that the paperwork for my claim has been filed with the courts. Soon, I’ll be Miss Peyton Kingsley Quinn, and I look forward to all the bells and whistles that come with my new name.”
I’m proud as hell of my woman as she stands in defiance of one of the most powerful men in this town, not to mention she looks drop-dead gorgeous as she does it.
Edmund stands slowly, and there's a genuine threat in the movement. Not physical, I’m sensing he's too civilized for that, too practiced at letting others do his violence, but it’s the kind of menace that comes from having unlimited resources and no moral limitations.
"You're making a mistake," he says. "A very costly one. The Kingsley operation is mine to rule, and I’m not going to let some watered-down, wet behind the ears, political flunkee come in here and trash it.”
"Is that a threat?" I ask, speaking for the first time, my hand close to my Glock. Honestly, I just want to shoot the bastard and be done with this, or better yet, let Silas kill the fucker and his bastard kids.
"It's a statement of fact." Edmund's gaze shifts to me, and there's contempt there, barely concealed. "Blake Delano. The black sheep who burned his family's operation and ran away rather than face consequences. Tell me, does Peyton know everything about why you're really here?"
The question lands wrong, weighted with meaning I don't immediately understand.
"Blake told me everything," Peyton says. "About Silas's orders, about White Ember, about why he came back and why he stayed."
"Everything?" Edmund's smile is cold, satisfied. "Did he tell you that he knew your mother? That three years ago, Lila came to him, to Blake specifically, asking for help proving her Kingsley heritage?"
I feel as if a block of ice landed on my chest. There’s no way he can know about that. Nobody knows about that.
"Your mother sought him out because she'd heard about White Ember. Heard that Blake Delano was the one member of his family with a conscience." Edmund pulls a folder from his desk drawer and slides it across to Peyton. "My niece asked him to help her. To use his family connections to verify the genealogy, to protect her while she made her claim. And this man you trust…” He pauses for effect. “He turned her away. He told her it was none of his business and that he couldn't help her. Do I have that right, Delano?”
Peyton's looking at me now, and I see the exact moment the betrayal registers. The exact moment she realizes I've been keeping this from her. The weight of her stare has knocked all the wind out of me.
"Blake?" Her voice is barely a whisper. "Is that true?"
I can't lie to her. Not about this.
"Yes," I say quietly. “But we can discuss it later. There’s more to the story.”
"You knew her?” She steps back, away from me, and the distance feels like a chasm opening. "You knew my mother was in danger and you did nothing?”
"I didn’t know anything about the trust, Peyton, and I sure as shit didn’t know Edmund would murder his own kin."
“You didn't help her." Peyton's voice is rising now, pain and fury mixing. "You could have protected her. Could have used your family connections, your resources, your knowledge of how this town works."
Edmund sits back in his chair, his drink in his hand, pleased with the chasm he’s created between Peyton and me.
“You sent her away alone to die." She's crying now, angry tears she's not even trying to hide. "My mother died because she had no one. Because the one person who might have helped her turned her away. Because you were too selfish to do the right thing."
“I promise you that I didn’t know she was in danger, and after what I did at the warehouse, I needed distance from this town and all its favors.” I move to grab Peyton at the waist. I want to throw her ass over my shoulder and get the hell out of here. I need to talk to her without any distractions and away from this old fucker.
“She asked for your help for a reason. Everything is dangerous in Wintervale,” She holds up a hand, stops me from moving closer. "Don't touch me. I can't—I need to think."
Edmund's watching this with barely concealed satisfaction. He's won. Fractured us with the truth I should have told her days ago.
“Wait, did you only take this assignment and come back to Wintervale because you heard it involved me? Are you protecting me out of guilt?” Peyton's laugh is bitter, broken. “What the hell else have you been hiding?"
"Peyton, I know this is painful.” Edmund's voice is almost gentle, sympathetic. Playing the concerned great-uncle now that he's destroyed our alliance. “But you see now why you can't trust Blake or any of them. The Delanos are only loyal to themselves."
"And the Kingsleys are better?" She rounds on him.
“No, we’re not,” Edmund leans forward. “That’s what I’m trying to explain. My sister made her choice when she married that radical black man in the 1960s. She knew the consequences. This is Wintervale, not Manhattan,” he mocks. “And your mother made her choice when she came after what wasn't hers. The Kinglsey money goes to actual Kingsleys who do the work every day, like me, to protect the legacy.”
