"I bought the building this morning," I say, my voice echoing in the marble foyer. "And I bought the mortgage. And I bought the debt of every board member sitting on the admission committee."
The doorman freezes. The color drains from his face.
I walk past him.
Ivy is beside me. She is wearing the black dress—a sleek, backless column of silk that pools around her feet like oil. She wears the diamond choker. She wears the platinum anklet. Her hair is swept up, exposing the long line of her neck.
She looks like a widow who is already spending the inheritance.
"He’s in the library," I tell her. "Third floor. He likes the view of the avenue."
We take the stairs. The elevator is too slow. I want to feel the ascent. I want to feel the ground shifting beneath my feet as I climb to the summit of the old world to burn it down.
We reach the library. The doors are open.
Inside, the room is dimly lit by green-shaded banker’s lamps. Leather armchairs are arranged in clusters.
Arthur Pendelton is sitting by the fireplace.
He looks exactly as I remember him from ten years ago. Gray hair, perfectly coiffed. A suit that costs five thousand dollars but looks effortless. He is holding a crystal tumbler of brandy, staring into the flames.
He looks comfortable. He looks like a man who thinks he has won.
I walk into the room. Ivy stays a step behind me, a shadow in the doorway.
"Arthur," I say.
Pendelton doesn't jump. He doesn't spill his drink. He turns his head slowly, a smile playing on his thin lips.
"Silas," he says. His voice is the same smooth, cultured instrument from the audio file. "I was wondering how long it would take you."
"You left a trail," I say, stopping in front of his chair. "You got sloppy."
"I got impatient," he corrects. He gestures to the empty chair opposite him. "Sit. Have a drink. The brandy is excellent. It’s from your father’s private reserve."
I don't sit.
"You tried to break me," I say. "You tried to make me turn on my wife."
"I tried to make yousee," Pendelton says, taking a sip. "You are a volatile element, Silas. You always were. Your father knew it. He knew you needed a strong hand. He knew that if you ever allowed yourself to be weak... to love... the empire would crumble."
He looks at me with a mixture of pity and disdain.
"And look at you. You fired your staff. You locked yourself in a tower. You are shaking apart because of a girl."
"I am not shaking," I say.
"Aren't you?" Pendelton stands up. He isn't a tall man, but he carries the weight of authority. "You killed Nikolai Sokolov. A mess. A public spectacle. You are drawing attention we cannot afford. The Board is nervous. The investors are nervous."
"There is no Board," I say calmly. "There are only my men. And they are very loyal."
"Loyalty is rented," Pendelton sneers. "Legacy is earned. Your father built Vane Enterprises on discipline. On fear. You are turning it into a thug’s paradise."
He steps closer.
"You need guidance, Silas. You need a steady hand on the wheel. I am willing to step back in. As an advisor. We can fix this. We can manage the girl. We can send her away to a facility where she can be... comfortable."
I stare at him.
