“Right,” Luke says. “That’s funny. Because I was looking at the hospital equipment manifest yesterday. My mother—Nurse Ortiz—she manages the audit logs.”
Alistair freezes. His fork stops halfway to his mouth.
“She found a line item,” Luke continues pleasantly. “Under ‘Surgical Supplies.’ For a ‘Titanium Precision Instrument.’ Cost: Four thousand dollars.”
Luke takes a sip of his tea.
“She was confused. Because we don't use titanium drivers in surgery. Unless… is that a new orthopaedic technique, Alistair?”
Harrison Vane gasps. “You expensed a golf club?”
“It… it has medical applications!” Alistair stammers, turning a shade of purple that clashes with his knickers. “Ergonomics! Balance studies!”
“Of course,” Luke smiles. “And the trip to St. Barts last month? The one listed as ‘Tropical Disease Infrastructure Research’?”
Alistair drops his fork.Clang.
He looks at Luke with wide,terrified eyes.
“St. Barts?” Catherine turns to her husband, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Alistair. You told me you were inBrussels. You said you were at a symposium on EU regulations!”
“I was!” Alistair squeaks. “The… the geography… it was a satellite campus! Very experimental!”
“My mother checked the logs, Alistair,” Luke interrupts, his voice dropping. “There were no site visits. No research. Just a lot of charges to a place called ‘Le Ti.’ And a yacht rental.”
“Alistair!” Catherine hisses.
Alistair looks at Catherine. He looks at Luke. He thinks of the spectre of the Black Binder. He opens his mouth to explain, to make up some lie about the research, but stops. He knows he's cornered.
“Okay!” Alistair shouts, holding up his hands. “Fine! You win! Two thousand dollars. Just… stop talking!”
“Alistair, what were you doing in St. Barts?” Catherine demands.
“Not now, Catherine!” Alistair snaps, wiping sweat from his forehead with a napkin. “Dr. Silva, you have made your point. Vividly. The bet is settled. Please, eat your burger.”
He looks at Luke with a mixture of fear and grudging respect. He knows Luke doesn't know exactly what happened in St. Barts, but he knows just enough to be dangerous, and he is willing to pay any price to keep that story at this table.
Harrison Vane looks between them, confused. “Was there research? I love research.”
“Eat your sandwich, Harrison,” I say.
Luke takes the cash Alistair slides across the table. He tucks it into his pocket.
“A pleasure playing with you, Dr. Silva,” Alistair says weakly. “You have… excellent form.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Luke turns to Harrison.
“And Harrison?” Luke asks.
“Y-yes?” Harrison squeaks, clutching his cape.
“The sandwich history. It’s fascinating. But if you mention the Victorians one more time, I’m going to assume you’re choking and perform the Heimlich maneuver. And as we established, I have very strong hands.”
Harrison goes pale. He shuts his mouth.
Luke stands up. He looks at me.
