“Then make it right,” he snaps. “You say you have information. Prove it. Give us something now. Something real. Or you answer for it tonight.”
The others shift slightly. The tension sharpens. Even the Chairman says nothing. He wants to see if I’ll bend.
I look at Creekmore. Measured. Unmoving.
“It has to do with Martine,” I say quietly. “She’s not a Huntington-Russell.”
That gets their attention.
Hudson’s brow furrows. “What are you talking about? It’s documented. The lineage is public. You can’t just claim the daughter of a Legacy isn’t a Legacy after all.”
“That’s the lie,” I say.
Saxton’s cigar pauses halfway to his mouth. “Then who is she?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“You don’t get to play games here,” Creekmore growls.
“I’m not playing. I’m protecting what’s valuable. When I reveal it, everything you thought you knew about that family will detonate. About our alliances. About why the Douglass situation exists at all. But right now, it stays with me.”
“Convenient,” Creekmore says with venom. “You expect us to sit on our hands while you keep secrets from the inner circle?”
“I expect you to trust me,” I say, voice cold. “I expect you to understand that timing is everything. If I play that card too early, it loses its value. Right now, it’s worth the entire board.”
Archie mutters, half under his breath, “He’s been spending too much time with his wife. He sounds bratty.”
Creekmore ignores him, eyes locked on mine. “You’re gambling with the Brotherhood.”
“No,” I say. “I’m protecting it.”
The more senior Chairman finally moves, his voice slicing through the tension.
“He has until the end of the quarter,” he says. “If nothing is delivered by then, we reevaluate. We’ll see you all at the Chosen Ceremony in two weeks.”
Creekmore’s mouth is a thin line, but he nods.
So do I.
I’ve bought time.
But not much.
And now they know there’s a secret hidden inside Martine’s bloodline. One they never saw coming.
The discussion shifts.
Creekmore steps back into line, though his glare lingers. The more senior Chairman speaks next, voice smooth and measured, as he begins moving through the rest of the agenda. Funding approvals. A failed acquisition in Marrakesh. A list of members currently under surveillance.
I listen. I contribute. I nod where I’m expected to nod.
But my mind is already elsewhere. Timing. Entrances. Surveillance blind spots at the estate. Where Douglass will try to slip in. Where I’ll be waiting when he does.
When the final matter is dismissed, the senior Chairman lifts a hand. “We’re adjourned.”
The torches flicker once and begin to extinguish, one by one. Ritual obeyed. Conversation ceases. Each man peels away into the corridor in silence, as always. No handshakes. No farewells.
Outside, the wind has picked up. It cuts through the trees like a whisper.
