Chapter Fifteen
FIFTEEN
Rocky
“And then there were three,” Varrick says after the Bennet brothers have left for bed. He passes me a crystal glass of rare Dalmore whiskey, and he hands another to Trent Waterford.
“Agatha Christie fan?” I wonder. (Not that I really care.)
Varrick slouches back into a dark leather club chair. “Murder mysteries have their charm.” He’s a comedian. His eyes gleam at me; possibly he’s entertained by the fact that we can so easily see through each other’s bullshit.
“I do love the macabre,” I say with a raise of my glass.
He raises his, too, then takes a sip. I don’t drink mine yet.
I meander around the intimately sized smoking room, acting like I’m so fucking fascinated with the towering bookcases, the marbled bust of a Roman god, and the ornate gold-framed mirrors—about five of them.
My calm, self-assured reflection follows me.
What I don’t do—I don’t let myself wonder whether Christian Wolfe, my birth father, shared a whiskey in here with his own dad. Whether he played on the green tartan carpet as a child and listened to old men prattle on about stocks and real estate while indulging in cigars and bourbon.
What I actually do—I check for two-way mirrors and tiny red lights with each passing glance.
I’m highly aware he’s studying me like I’m a mouse in his maze.
Trent kicks back in the club chair beside Varrick. “Now that the children have gone to bed, I’d like to know a few things about your…summer proposal.” He slouches, ankle propped on his knee, getting comfortable. “Starting with this invite list.”
“My reasonings were stated in the letter,” Varrick says simply, but I’ve been enjoying Trent’s constant barrage of questions and ridiculously shallow comments that Varrick has had to swat away like gnats.
“Dalmore aged in an oak cask is much better than whatever that is on your shelf.”
“Why is there recessed lighting in here? Is that a can light?”
“Your housekeeper definitely doesn’t know what a feather duster is. I have the numbers of staff who’d completely turn this place around if you want them.”
It’s also kept Varrick partially distracted from his interest in me and the Graves siblings. I’ve seen him try to rest his gaze on us, only to be pulled in by Trent.
Why he hasn’t told him to fuck off yet, I don’t know. Other than he wants something from the firstborn fuckbag.
“I read it. You invited the founding families and families who made their mark on the town,” Trent says into a sip of whiskey.
“But if you asked anyone who’s been here, they would’ve told you the Bennet brothers aren’t worth your time.
Damian is terrible with money. He purchased a winery that couldn’t grow grapes. ”
That’s not necessarily true, but not entirely inaccurate either. Damian won the winery in a poker bet against Jake. Not only was the property worthless but a bad investment that Jake had stressed to me he needed to get rid of.
“Put the winery in the kitty, Jake,” I prodded during the poker game.
He resisted screwing over another guy, but I don’t think Jake is fond of Damian, because it didn’t take a ton of convincing.
“And Sandon Bennet,” Trent laughs, “he’s twelve.”
“Fourteen,” Varrick corrects, sounding nonchalant.
“Same thing.”
It’s not.
“And what’s with the Smiths?” Trent wonders. “They’re trust-fund kids from out of state. Who’ve been here for less than a year—”
“Grey.” Varrick cuts him off for the first time. “Why don’t you take a seat?” He tips his head to the empty one across from him.
“I prefer being on my feet.” I come closer, just to relax against the bar and not pace around.
“Afraid the house will catch fire?” he banters.
“We’re surrounded by open water. So no issue there.”
Varrick motions to the chair again. “I insist.”
“I kind of like Grey back there,” Trent teases. “Under the god-awful lighting, you almost look fuckable. I’m starting to sense why Phoebe might’ve had a thing for you.” He laughs at his own humorless joke.
“She still has a thing for me,” I say. “What do you call that?”
“Delusion.”
I laugh hard at the irony of him calling me delusional. He believes I’m laughing at his joke, so he chuckles. Varrick smiles down at his whiskey, then up at me, as if he’s admiring this moment we share together.
The truths we see.
My stomach roils.
“You’re going to make me ask a third time?” Varrick wonders, his tone friendly and light.
I’m about to respond when Trent says, “He can stand. The Thornhalls aren’t any more prestigious than the Smiths. In fact, they’re less than—no offense, Grey.”
“None taken.” I raise my whiskey. I am uncaring of the Wolfe fortune. Unthreatening. Just here for a good time this summer with my worthy best friend.
Varrick taps his finger to his glass, staring between me and Trent. “Please. Sit,” he orders me, asserting dominance over Trent.
“He might look part pit bull, but he’s not a dog.” Trent is basically saying, He’s not your dog.
“He is my guest, and I’d like him to join us over here.”
I straighten and walk away from the bar.
“Don’t fight over me all at once.” I finally take the chair, placing my whiskey over on the end table beside me.
“TK is right though. The invite list could’ve been shortened.
The chances of you leaving your fortune to one of the girls has to be low. They’re servers.”
“And that would discredit them because…?”
Trent huffs out a laugh, drawing our gazes to him as he loosens the collar of his button-down. “Because they’re of no social standing to amass a fortune of this size. What are they going to do with it?”
Varrick rests farther back in his chair. “You’re both intelligent men.” Now he has to be feeding Trent’s ego. “You can understand my need to appear generous and benevolent to this town. I’d prefer not to be seen as the monster out at sea.”
Trent frowns. “So, you invited Phoebe and Hailey to appear charitable?”
“I didn’t just invite Hailey. I’m making her my heir.”
What…the fuck…is going on? “My sister?” I question with a tsunami of confusion crashing against my brain.
“Your sister,” Varrick confirms.
“Wait, wait.” Trent abandons his whiskey on a coffee table to hold up his hands. “The twenty-year-old goth girl?” Hailey will be twenty-five in July, but I’d never expect Trent to remember anyone’s age.
“It’s just for appearance’s sake. Smoke and mirrors.
” Varrick lifts a finger from the crystal glass and points at our reflections.
“Naming her my beneficiary will appeal to locals, and unlike Phoebe, she’s also compliant, easiest to control.
So when she marries a Koning, it’ll unite the two most powerful families in Victoria. A legacy I’d like to leave behind.”
I can’t move a muscle. What the fuck is his endgame?
I stare him down, trying to extinguish the visceral heat in my eyes. “You want my sister to marry Jake?” I question.
“Not Jake.” He points at the vile prick sitting beside him. “Trent.”
I almost black out. Only to be reawakened by Trent’s shrill laughter.
“This has to be a joke.” He cackles and takes a sharp breath. “Good one, Varrick. You fucking had me.” He applauds, but the noise dies out when Varrick shakes his head.
“Not a joke. I’ve set up this whole summer so you can get to know each other better here at Stonehaven. All under the guise that I don’t know who I’m choosing as my next living heir, but it will be Hailey Thornhall. My fortune through wedlock is still a fortune. How do you think I came by it?”
Marriage and death.
I need to talk to my sister. Like right now. I check my phone at my side. No cell signal. Shit.
Trent is grimacing. “It’s a piece of paper. What money will she see while you’re still alive?”
“I’m giving Hailey a sizable trust. It will be yours if you marry her, and then we can talk about divvying up the Wolfe properties around town.”
Why? Why the fuck would he do this? It’s not adding up in my pounding head.
I force myself not to run my fingers through my hair. Can’t be on edge. Can’t appear like I want to slit his throat. I’m a mixture of confusion and intrigue. “Who else is going to know about this plan?”
“It stays between us three.”
Like hell.
He can’t actually believe I won’t go rat him out to my sister in a heartbeat.
“Hailey?” Trent keeps repeating with a disgusted expression.
I love that he’s repulsed at the idea. Varrick doesn’t. He’s rapidly skimming Trent like he’s searching for a way to influence him.
I’m not going to let him sell Hailey to this fucking asshole. “This seems flimsy.”
“How so?” Varrick asks.
“My sister will never agree to it.” Nor would I fucking want her to.
Trent downs his whiskey. “What about Phoebe?”
My whole body catches fire. I should’ve been more afraid of burning alive. “We’re working on our marriage—”
“You got divorced for a reason, Grey, come on.” He makes a face like I’m being pathetic thinking I have a chance with my ex.
“No.” That’s Varrick, not me. “It won’t be Phoebe.
Locals would prefer she marry Jake, and like I said, she’s not malleable.
You need to marry a woman you can control.
Someone who will do whatever you say so you won’t have to sign a prenup.
Her money will be yours. Her property, yours.
Her body—whether you want it or not—yours. ”
I want to strangle him. To calm down, I take a breath and fixate on the weight my Rolex is bearing on my wrist. The cool leather of the chair beneath my bare forearm, my sleeves rolled. Another breath.
I still want to strangle him.
Trent crashes backward, his hands on his head. “I have to think about this.”
“You have all summer.” Varrick stands, his glass only half empty. I’ve barely even had a sip—or else I’d need to go puke in a toilet. I don’t trust him pouring my drinks. I am that paranoid here.
Once Trent heads off to bed, me assuring him I’m not far behind—because to Trent, I’m not important enough to be alone with just Varrick—I seize Varrick’s shoulder and keep him in the smoking room for another second.
“We need to talk,” I whisper between my teeth, my blood coursing hotter and hotter.
“Later. Five a.m. in this room.” He speaks furtively and motions me to follow.
The vein in my temple is pulsing too hard as I track his footsteps.
When he twists a statue of an onyx wolf on a bookcase, the shelf swings open to reveal a hidden sitting room.
“Five a.m.,” he repeats. “Bring the others.”
“You’re calling a meeting?” I stare into him, wondering why he thinks we’d ever work with him.
“Five a.m.” He keeps a cautious eye on the door while unpocketing a skeleton key. “This is to Phoebe’s room.” He’s speaking more hurriedly. “Use it to stay with her.”
“Why?” I ask, even knowing I can’t believe anything he says.
“Trent has made me aware that he plans to win Phoebe over by the end of the summer, and I don’t trust what he’d do in the middle of the night while my daughter is sleeping. I can’t tell him off. It’s better if he believes he can say anything to me so I can use it to my advantage.”
He called Phoebe his daughter.
He’s feeding me sincerity. It sounds like he’s being honest, but I’m scavenging for areas of manipulation. He’s just saying what I want to hear.
As if he sees what I’m thinking, he says, “I won’t lie to you. That’s how this works. We never lie to one another.”
It’s the playbook we were raised on. “Yeah. That’s what your old friends always said to us,” I tell him bitterly. “And look how that turned out.”
Varrick nods, his gaze so empathetic, I question whether he is in the dark triad.
His understanding tries to reach me. “They lied to me, too, Brayden.” Because Elizabeth never told him she was pregnant with triplets.
He checks the door again. “You need to go now.” He shuts the hidden room.
Bookcase back in place. “Trent will want to make sure you’re following him. ”
He’s not incorrect.
But before I go, I make him very aware of one thing. “If you think we’ll let you run a con where you force my sister to marry that fucking prick, you’ve got us pegged so fucking wrong.”
“Five a.m.” is all he says.