ChapterFifty-Three
Callaway
The private jet lands in New York like I’m returning to a crime scene.
Not because I miss it.It’s because my father still thinks Manhattan is a throne and I’m still his obedient prince who’ll show up when summoned, smile for the cameras, and swallow whatever he pours down my throat.
Why am I here?
It’s the best time to set things straight.Harvey has pulled all the strings.Things are about to go down and to be honest, I want to watch my father fall apart in real time.Am I an asshole for wanting that?
Well I come from a long line of assholes, so no one should be surprised.
Thankfully, I have a few days off before I have to go back to the ice.We swept the first round in four games.Most guys would use this stretch to sleep, ice, rehab, go fishing, play video games, pretend they’re normal.
I’m using it to burn down my family.
Harvey meets me at the private terminal in a black coat and an expression that says I brought paperwork and a shovel.
“Morning,” he says.
“This is too fucking early,” I mutter, sliding into the back of the car.“I’m emotionally available for violence only.”
“Did you sleep during the trip?”he dares to ask.
I glare at him.“Nope.Thankfully I was on a video call half of the flight with Vesper and Monty until they fell asleep.Then it was just me thinking about what I’m going to do with my parents.”I yawn then look at the sun.“I can’t believe it’s already eight in the morning here.”
We get into the car waiting for us, and the driver pulls smoothly away from the curb, navigating the streets to take us to my family’s penthouse.Harvey sits across from me with a slim folder on his lap, then checks his watch like we’re about to catch a matinee.“Drink some coffee.”He points at the cupholder.“You’ll want to be fully present for the part where your parents realize they’re not in charge.”
I stare at him.“That was ...almost inspiring.”
“Don’t make it weird,” he says, deadpan.“I’ll invoice you for bonding.”
“You invoice me for fucking everything,” I groan.“I’m lucky you don’t charge for breathing during working hours.”
He snorts and shakes his head.
The city blurs outside the tinted windows.New York looks the same in the way a liar looks the same—polished, expensive, confident it can get away with anything as long as it keeps smiling.
The penthouse is exactly where it has always been, the whole building an elegant, towering monument to at least three generations of Winthrops, ever since one of them had the idea to build it during the height of the Roaring Twenties.The doorman recognizes me instantly and goes rigid.
“Mr.Winthrop,” he says, careful.“It’s a pleasure to see you.”
I give him my friendliest smile.The one my mother used to praise because it made me look “approachable.”“Hi, Frank.Tell my parents I’m here for a quick ...visit while I ruin their day.”
His eyes open wide.
I pat his shoulder on my way past.“Kidding.Mostly.”
Harvey shakes his head.“Don’t announce us.We’ll just go ahead and surprise them.”He winks at Frank as if this is a friendly family reunion.Frank relaxes and waves us inside.
The elevator ride is silent except for Harvey scrolling through his phone.
When the doors open, the penthouse smells like leather.Citrus.Something floral that’s trying too hard to be comforting but instead just reminds you of funerals during spring.
My mother sits on the cream sofa, perfect posture, perfect hair, pearls at her throat—ready to be clutched if anyone pisses her off.My father stands by the windows with a tumbler in hand, Manhattan spread behind him as if he owns the skyline.
I should tell him it’s only eight in the morning, but I doubt he gives a shit about any of it.
