Chapter 3
Nathaniel Shaw disappeared before we reached the driveway.
His assigned car remained.
Keys gone.
Phone off.
Elias, my security chief, checked the vehicle and returned with a face I disliked.
“The normal tracking link was disconnected.”
No technical explanation.
None needed.
The car had been prepared to become difficult to follow.
I looked at Corisande.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
I believed her.
That frightened me more.
Her plan already contained a plan she had not been told about.
Elias continued.
“A second vehicle was seen near the west gate.”
Registered to Hollingby Holdings.
Of course.
Mother looked at Corisande.
“Ambrose never intended merely to talk.”
Corisande snapped:
“You hate my father.”
Mother smiled faintly.
“No, darling. I understand him.”
That landed harder.
Ambrose Hollingby built influence by placing himself between angry men and the people they hated.
He rarely created conflict.
He monetized access to resolution.
If twelve exiled families wanted a return to Veynham, Ambrose could deliver me.
Then he became indispensable to both sides.
“Was this why he encouraged our engagement?”
I asked.
Corisande’s face changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
“How long has he discussed Briar House with you?”
“One year.”
We had been engaged eight months.
There.
Before the ring.
Maybe even before love.
She saw what I was thinking.
“No.”
“Then tell me.”
“My father knew who you were before I met you.”
“Everyone knows who I am.”
“He knew what Briar meant.”
Different.
Ambrose had spent years gathering the sons and nephews of men my father expelled.
He knew their grievance.
He also knew I had inherited the closed door.
Then his daughter met me.
Opportunity.
Corisande whispered:
“He said marriage could repair something your father broke.”
I looked at her.
“Marriage?”
May you like
Or access?
Her silence answered.
