“There is no point to this but to be cruel or entertained. I should hope not the latter, considering it is your own daughter. What do you gain from this?” I demanded from her father.
“An opportunity.”
“What do you want? What will make you stop this aimless crusade?”
“I fear there is nothing to be done.” Adrien shrugged, glancing at Mr. Hunt. “Though, there could be something ...” He trailed off, leaning over the side of his chair.
With one hoist, a bag thumped in front of me on the desk. And with one quick zip, a flash of green. More money than I’d ever seen up close. My stomach lurched.
“I have one last favor to ask of you, for Petronille.”
“No.” I didn’t need to hear his request. I already knew it wasn’t something I could do. I wouldn’t betray her, especially knowing this man would ruin her if nobody stood in his way.
“I thought you’d say that. You drive a hard bargain. Good man!” He laughed, leaning back down and dropping another bag on the table with a grunt.
Before I could open my mouth to repeat myself, he put his hand up in pause.
He reached down on the other side of the office chair and stood, throwing the third bag at my chest.
The impact almost toppled me as I caught it, the weight nearly forcing the air from my lungs.
“You’re a smart boy. I know you’ll choose well. It’s simple. You killed Vincent. Well, Petre saidshekilled him, but, of course, I know my little girl well. The poor thing is squeamish, that’s why Vincent always did everything for her. I expected it was probably you. Even if it wasn’t, I’ll make sure the lawthinksyou did. Do you understand me so far, boy?” He took his seat again in the commissioner’s office chair, Mr. Hunt standing by his side.
I eyed him carefully, my grip on the bag tightening.
“You deserve an easy life, Arkady. Mr. Hunt has told me quite a bit about your history,” he said. “Isn’t that why you married her? To save her reputation? Come now, boy. Do her this one kindness and free her of you.”
“You want me to abandon her and volunteer a confession to fill your quota?” I sneered.
“No, my dear son, you are being paid to disappear. We will announce your confession after you are long gone. It will be the story of the decade. She will be free to remarry above her class, her love story will skyrocket her to infamy, you will have more money than you could ever spend in your lifetime, and no one will see the inside of a prison.”
“No one?” I laughed. “Not even you?”
The charming geniality in his face faltered, daring to show the wicked monster that lay within, before the facade hardened. “If you’d like to propose a threat, be plain with it.”
“The farms.” I was firm in my accusation but couldn’t let him know how much I truly knew. “Is that why you wanted us on the front pages? Embarrassing your daughter for a headline to bury the ones about your farms? I’m sure a plague would be an even bigger story than a woman who married an alleged murderer with no evidence, not even a body to be found.” My jaw tensed as I forced myself to chew and swallow the words Ireallywanted to say.
“That’s quite a story. Would you be willing to gamble with it falling flat?” Mr. De Villier asked, tapping the hollow desk. “You are young, I admire your optimism in our press. The truth is, they’rejustfarmers. Even if you warned of some catastrophic act of God that would kill millions, the press would ignore it until there is a Caucasian casualty, upper-middle class at the very least. These people come from far and wide to work the fields, with no family, no connections to the land or the community, just there for a paycheck.”
“They’re people,” I said sharply, looking to Mr. Hunt. “You harp on probity so often, I almost believed you had some sense of decency, in your own snobbish way. You are a harping fraud! How do you go on, knowing you’d rather harass people for petty crimes while you’re covering for such a molestation of justice?”
“There are necessary evils in this world that are inevitable,” Mr. Hunt said. “You will understand, as you mature, that this is how the world works. There is give and take.”
“You are a coward,” I snapped at her father. “Throwing Petre to the wolves won’t help you. Isn’t itbad for businessthat your daughter’s in the press?”
“My boy, the public didn’t even know Ihada third daughter. Their first impression of her was with your last name attached to her face, along with a gossip piece about the exclusive private wedding of a retired ballerina. Her brand is her own.” They both laughed. “You and Petre could have been a decent distraction, and yet you’ve made my job harder by killing the man disposing of our bodies. If you’d just held out a bit longer, you could have faded back into irrelevance if you wished.”
“This is a good deal, for all parties,” Mr. Hunt said. “You don’t want to see her hurt, do you?”
“It isn’t me who is hurting her,” I said.
“You can choose what you like.” Adrien sighed, leaning back in the chair. “You can deny the money, save your confession, and stay. But will you be able to live with yourself when she suffers, and you knew you could have prevented it?”
I clutched the bag in my hand. I could feel the distinct bound stacks of paper poking through the edges and giving it a lumpy shape.
Mr. Hunt, her father ... nobody was there to protect her. She wasn’t a person to them, just a pawn like their working-class slaves or lab rats. They wouldn’t stop, not until they got their way.
With all that in mind, I left the precinct that day with three bags.
