Chapter Twenty-Three #2
Whatever it is, I’ll find it. I refuse to spend what could be my last weeks on this earth miserable.
A week later, I manage to get a very important dinner set up.
Spencer, known in the Eyes as Janus, was director of a top intelligence agency for nearly twenty years before his retirement.
But retiring from the job and public eye was only the beginnings of his ambition; he is, without doubt, one of the best-connected men on this earth, and an expert at intelligence gathering.
He knows secrets that could destabilize every monarchy and government on earth, and he likely has information about everyday working people that could get them all put in jail.
He has a silver-fox appeal about him, with salt-and-pepper hair, and a vintage walking cane to help him with an old military wound that never quite healed.
We meet in the back room of an upscale restaurant in the city. He’s early, so by the time I arrive—also five minutes early—he’s cutting into a salmon fillet.
“Hope you don’t mind, I started without you.” His pale blue eyes meet mine. “My wife has me on a strict diet that leaves me perpetually hungry.”
I arch an eyebrow. “The things we do for love.”
“Indeed.” He sets down his utensils and gestures to the seat across from him. “Please.”
I help myself, sinking into the slightly uncomfortable chair and leaning back.
I’d order myself something to eat, as well, except I’ve heard that Spencer has been known to dabble in poisons.
Besides, even if not him, Silas sent one assassin after me; I’m sure he’ll send another soon enough.
For the time being, I won’t be eating any food that hasn’t been prepared by my chef, or drinking anything I haven’t poured myself.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” I say amiably. “I appreciate you taking the time.”
Spencer resumes eating, pausing only to point a fork at me. “You are a very interesting man, Mr. King. We have a thing or two in common, did you know?”
I do. We both come from impoverished childhoods and are what the world views as self-made men.
Therefore, we’ll both always be seen as outsiders in The Eyes.
The status can be forgiven on me, considering I’m working on a drug to extend life indefinitely, and it can be forgiven for Spencer because he has everyone’s balls in the palm of his hand.
I wonder if he somehow already knows that Silas sent an assassin after me. It wouldn’t surprise me.
“You have until I finish my disgusting salmon to plead your case.”
“Disgusting?” I question airily. “Why not order a steak?”
“My wife’s a doctor. I’m working on my cholesterol. Live a few more decades, and you’ll see what it’s like. In any case, I’d say you have about ten minutes to hook my interest.” He smiles. “We’re all fast eaters in New York, aren’t we?”
“My case is simple.” I fold my hands over my knee, affecting an air of practiced calm.
“Silas is untrustworthy, and Vladimir is untrustworthy. Silas is old money, which grants him certain privileges, but he’s lost half of the fortune he inherited already.
Logic informs us that this will probably only continue, and he’ll become a burden to the eyes.
Not the asset he might’ve been at first, and not the stale member he is now.
A burden that the rest of you must bear.
As for Vladimir,” I run a hand over my tie.
“He hates men like you and I. We made it from nothing. He had an oligarch father and grandfather to hand him hundreds of millions.”
“You haven’t mentioned anything about the exact charges you’re bringing against Silas.” Spencer dabs at his lips with his napkin. “That he hurt your kin.”
“He hurt my wife,” I respond, trying to stay calm.
“He hurt a woman who, by all accounts, you were enjoying an affair with. A sordid affair, according to some. One you persuaded her into my recording certain… activities.”
Ah. Spencer, of course, knows more than he’s letting on.
“She was pregnant with my child. We’d already decided on marriage, and had gotten engaged in private. We were waiting for the next public event to announce. Our love may have started out as an affair, but it evolved.”
“Mm.” Spencer finishes the last bite of his salmon, sets down his cutlery, and leans back to regard me. “Where did the baby go, then?”
“Miscarriage.” I grit my teeth over the word. “Caused by the stress of the scandal that Silas created. That’s why Lyra left the country for some time.”
“I see. Silas tells a very different story. One where you extracted a pound of flesh from him because of your preexisting rivalry, and are only using the journalist as a smoke screen to avoid consequences.”
“If that were the case, why wouldn’t he have said so sooner?”
“If you were really engaged, why did your fiancée spend five months on the run from you?” Spencer’s tone remains perfectly placid, but his eyes burn a hole into mine. He knows he’s got me there.
“Stress. Hysteria.” I wave a hand. “She thought I was the one to leak the tape.”
“Weren’t you the one who made it?” Spencer questions.
“AI made it.” I won’t bend on this lie.
“Very well.” Spencer folds his hands on his lap, regarding me thoughtfully. “Your wish to see Silas dead goes beyond the frictions between you in the last year. You hate his kind as much as his kind hates yours.”
I smile sardonically. “His kind cost me everything.”
“And our kind is threatening to cost them everything.” Spencer leans forward.
“Self-made men are an existential threat to generational wealth. We always have been. The problem with those who come from money is that they think there’s not enough to go around.
They won’t share it. In doing so, they create a self-fulfilling prophecy.
They leave themselves in a position to either thrive or go bankrupt since they won’t adapt or play nice. ”
“I have no wish to eradicate Silas’s ilk,” I say smoothly. “They have their place. Silas does not. Frankly, neither does Vladimir.” I lean forward. “Now, irrespective of what Silas did to my wife months ago, a few days ago he tried to have me killed.”
“I’m aware of the bomb that went off in your building, and of the assassin who set that bomb.” Spencer braces his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers under his chin. “You believe he was sent by Silas?”
“Almost certainly.”
“Almost. So you don’t have proof.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m working on it.”
“Work fast,” Spencer advises. “But, even if you get it… your case is almost as weak as Silas’s.
Yes, he deliberately hurt a woman pregnant with your child—that much can be said for certain.
What can’t be proven is that you intended to marry her.
For all we know, you might’ve intended to squirrel her away somewhere or have her killed.
In which case, you had Silas mutilate himself for no reason.
The assassin angle would change things—if you prove it.
That would constitute a direct violation of the core tenets of The Eyes.
” He stands. “This has been an… interesting conversation, Killian. I look forward to the tribunal.” He leaves without further ado.
I failed to concretely bring him over to my side. There’s no knowing how he’ll vote.
Which means I need to flip Ryan and Raegan… or risk losing my head in less than two weeks.