Chapter 9
I looked at Merritt.
He looked at Ione.
That was enough.
My aunt stood.
Slowly.
“No.”
Merritt said nothing.
She stared at him.
“Merritt.”
He closed his eyes.
Forty-one years of marriage passed across Ione's face in about three seconds.
Then she slapped him.
Harder than I had slapped her.
Nobody stopped her.
“You.”
Her voice broke.
“You told me Silas contacted you.”
Merritt opened his eyes.
“He did.”
“Because you contacted him first.”
Silence.
Ione hit him again.
“You used me.”
Merritt stood.
“You wanted Cassian out too.”
“I wanted him to negotiate!”
“You wanted control.”
“I wanted this family alive.”
“So did I.”
“No.”
Ione backed away.
“You wanted his chair.”
There it was.
Simple.
Ugly.
Old.
Merritt had married into the Halbrook family four decades earlier.
He had influence.
Money.
Men.
But never the final word.
My father had it.
Then me.
Merritt had spent his life one chair away from power.
Apparently one chair had been too far.
I looked at him.
“Camille.”
His face hardened.
“She found out.”
“Did you kill her?”
“No.”
Elias spoke.
“He ordered Daniel to weaken her.”
Daniel shouted:
“That's a lie.”
Elias didn't even look at him.
“Camille's tea. Her evening tonic. Small doses.”
My vision narrowed.
Not enough to kill quickly.
Enough to make her weaker.
Enough to make everyone believe she was ill.
“Why?”
Merritt finally looked at me.
“She was going to expose everything.”
“So you killed her.”
“I said no.”
“You poisoned my wife.”
“To scare her.”
I laughed once.
It didn't sound human.
“She died.”
“That wasn't supposed to happen.”
That sentence.
I had heard variations of it my whole life.
From men who ordered beatings.
From men who started wars.
From men who put guns in rooms and acted surprised when blood appeared.
Not supposed to happen.
A coward's prayer.
Ione sat down.
She looked destroyed.
Good.
Not because I hated her.
Because she needed to understand the shape of the man she had defended all night.
I looked at Graham.
“You worked for him.”
Graham said nothing.
“Daniel?”
Silence.
“Merritt contacted Wren.”
“Yes,” Graham finally said.
“Why would Wren obey him?”
“Wren wanted access east again.”
“And Merritt offered it.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Merritt.
“You drug me tonight so Wren's men could enter.”
“Ione handled the glass.”
She flinched.
He continued.
“I arranged the meeting.”
“Graham turned it into an assassination.”
“Yes.”
“Stephen tried to get Camille's recorder to me.”
“Yes.”
“And the men at the gate?”
Merritt smiled weakly.
“My last insurance.”
“Against whom?”
“Everyone.”
Of course.
Three cars had entered.
Not Wren's people.
Merritt's private men.
If Ione's negotiation worked, he survived.
If Graham's coup worked, he survived.
If both failed, his own men came through the front.
He had built three different outcomes.
All ending with him standing.
I almost respected the planning.
Almost.
I looked at Ione.
“You humiliated Nash because?”
She cried openly now.
“He heard Merritt talking to Daniel.”
“What did he hear?”
“Midnight. East door. Black ribbon.”
She wiped her face.
“He kept repeating it.”
“So you tried to scare him quiet.”
“Yes.”
“You poured food over a three-year-old.”
“Yes.”
“Made him eat on the floor.”
Her voice disappeared.
“Yes.”
I nodded.
At least she had finally stopped lying.
The dining room doors opened.
Three bodyguards entered.
Behind them were the men from Merritt's vehicles.
Disarmed.
Hands bound.
Merritt stared.
I smiled.
“Your insurance expired.”
His face went empty.
Ione whispered:
“What happens now?”
I looked around the table.
Graham.
Daniel.
Merritt.
Ione.
Men who had mistaken proximity for immunity.
Then I looked at the empty chair where Nash had been sitting.
Food still stained the carpet beneath it.
My jacket was gone.
He had taken it upstairs.
Good.
I walked to Merritt.
“You tried to take my family apart from inside.”
Then I looked at Ione.
“You helped him because you were afraid of what would happen if you didn't.”
She cried harder.
“That doesn't make you innocent.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
I turned toward Elias.
“Take Graham and Daniel below.”
They stood.
Merritt tried to step back.
Two men caught him.
He looked at me.
“Cassian.”
I said nothing.
“I'm family.”
That finally made me smile.
“No.”
I pointed toward the chair Nash had occupied.
“Family doesn't teach a child to fear the dinner table.”
Merritt's face changed.
For the first time all night, he understood.
He had spent decades believing blood guaranteed him a place beside us.
It didn't.
I looked at my men.
“Take him.”
Merritt shouted once.
Then twice.
The doors closed behind him.
Ione remained seated.
Alone.
I walked toward her.
She looked up.
“You said it was my last meal.”
I stared at her.
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
I leaned closer.
“Under my roof.”
Her eyes opened.
I straightened.
“You will leave tonight.”
She stared.
“You will never speak to Nash without my permission.”
Her mouth trembled.
“You will never sit at my table again.”
“Cassian…”
“And if you ever help another man use my son to control me…”
I paused.
“You'll wish I meant the other version.”
She nodded.
Then my radio crackled.
Miles.
“Boss.”
I answered.
“Yes.”
“Nash won't sleep.”
I closed my eyes.
For the first time that night, the most important problem was three years old.
I looked at Ione.
May you like
“We're done.”
Then I went upstairs to my son.
