Portia’s mouth curved, softer now. “Just remember why you’re here.”
I nodded, clutching that like a lifeline. “The flowers.”
Portia smiled. “Exactly.”
6
MICAH
Silas led me back through the War Room doors and into the hallway, moving with the same efficient silence he'd carried since picking me up at the airfield.
My head was swimming.
Not from the bourbon. Not from exhaustion. From the impossible weight of what I'd just learned.
Benson's family. Taken care of. College funds. Mortgage paid off. All of it done quietly, anonymously, by people I'd never met until today.
I wanted to call his wife. Confirm it. Hear her voice and know this wasn't some elaborate mind game designed to break me open and see what spilled out.
But that would be stupid.
She didn't know me. Had no reason to trust a stranger calling to ask questions about money that appeared out of nowhere. Better to let it lie. Better to trust—if that was even the right word—that Silas had told me the truth.
And if he hadn't?
I'd burn this place to the ground.
We walked through more hallways, past more rooms I didn't look into, until Silas pushed open a set of glass doors and gestured me outside.
The backyard—if you could call it that—opened up in front of me like something out of a different world entirely.
Massive lawn. Perfectly manicured. Sloping down toward the water in gentle, deliberate waves of green that looked like they'd been shaped by someone who gave a damn about symmetry. Trees lined the edges, old oaks dripping with Spanish moss, creating natural privacy walls that made the whole space feel both open and contained.
And at the end of it all, where the grass met the dock, two yachts sat moored to the property's pier.
Not boats. Yachts.
Huge. Black. Sleek as knives. The kind of vessels that didn't just cost money—they cost the kind of money that made other rich people uncomfortable.
I stopped walking and stared.
"Jesus," I muttered.
Silas glanced back at me, eyebrows raised slightly. "Impressive, isn't it?"
"That's one word for it."
He didn't smile, but something in his expression shifted. Amusement, maybe. Or recognition that he'd had the same reaction once.
"I've got a quick thing to take care of," Silas said, turning to face me fully. "After that, you've got options. You can take one of the rooms here at Dominion Hall. We've got guest quarters. Or I can get you a ride to the Palmetto Rose—it's one of ours, quieter, more private. Or if you'd rather, pick any hotel in the city. We'll cover it."
He said it all matter-of-factly, like living in a mansion with yachts was the most normal thing in the world. Like offeringto pay for a stranger's hotel room was standard operating procedure.
Maybe for him, it was.
"I'll let you know," I said.
Silas nodded once. "Take your time. Look around. I'll find you in a bit."
