Chapter 31
Ares
“The List of Sins”
Seven days, I thought.
That’s what I gave myself earlier this morning.
One week to handle business in the city.
One week to shut down problems.
One week before, I flew back to France and dealt with the mess my family dropped into my lap.
Yuna.
I didn’t say her name out loud to anyone in my circle.
Didn’t need them to know my situation yet.
It sat in the back of my mind anyway.
Seven days.
I go back.
Not because Marcel said so.
Because I decided to.
Behind me, my office door opened and closed again.
“Morning, boss.”
Darius.
I didn’t turn around.
“What’s on fire?”
“Nothing yet,” he said. “But we got a couple sparks.”
Of course we do.
I finally turned and walked back to my desk, pouring a small glass of espresso from the machine sitting on the credenza.
Darius dropped a tablet in front of me.
“Lawyers called about Bianca. She officially filed. They said Lyric is a part of this, too.”
I took a sip of espresso.
“How? They don’t even fuck with each other?”
“I guess they are just opping up for the money. I’m sure they will fall out after,” he shrugged.
“Okay… And?”
“They want eight million to split to keep the NDA going.”
Of course they did.
I scrolled through the documents.
Breach of contract.
Unfair compensation.
Emotional damages.
I let out a quiet breath through my nose.
“Emotional damages,” I muttered.
Darius leaned on the edge of the desk. “Their lawyers are trying to make the NDAs look predatory.”
“They are,” I said calmly.
He blinked.
“You’re not denying it?”
“Why would I?”
He shrugged. “Because most pretend they’re saints.”
“I’m not most.”
I closed the file and set the tablet down.
Bianca or Lyric wasn’t stupid.
Petty.
But not stupid.
Somebody was whispering in their ear.
Probably Laurent.
That fool had always wanted something he couldn’t take directly.
Now he was trying to move pieces.
Cute.
Darius spoke again.
“Also had a call from the Paris office. A couple of Delacroix relatives are asking questions about the merger.”
“Let them ask.”
“They’re nervous that your grandfather isn’t talking much these days.”
“He doesn’t have to.”
I leaned back in the chair, calm as ever.
Enemies testing the air.
Women circling.
Family politics heating up because the Delacroix and Laveau names were about to merge.
Pressure everywhere.
But pressure never bothered me.
Pressure made other people crack.
Not me.
Darius shifted his weight.
“One more thing.”
“Say it.”
“You’re on the guest list for the Valmont charity gala.”
I closed my eyes for half a second.
“I hate that fuckin’ event.”
“I know.”
“Remind me why I go.”
“Because billionaires who donate millions to children’s hospitals look good on magazine covers.”
“Ah,” I said. “Public image.”
Darius nodded.
“And every powerful family in California attends.”
Exactly why I hate it.
Jealous men.
Old money.
Politicians pretending they’re not corrupt.
And criminals pretending they’re respectable.
Sharks smelling blood anytime somebody’s empire shifts.
Right now, mine was shifting.
So, they would be watching.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go. But no date on my arm.”
Darius nodded once.
“I’ll have your suit ready.”
He turned to leave but paused when the office door opened again.
My receptionist stepped in first.
Behind her came something unexpected.
A wheelchair.
Marcel sat in it, looking like death dressed in a tailored suit.
His nurse-assistant pushed him into the office.
I stood immediately, shocked as hell to see him in California. He hated the United States.
“Grandfather.”
Marcel waved his assistant away and rolled himself closer to my
“You look irritated.” He chuckled.
“Los Angeles traffic, I have to get into it,” I replied, dryly.
He smiled faintly. “I couldn’t talk to you in France.”
My attention sharpened.
“Why not?”
He leaned forward slightly.
“Laurent listens to everything.”
Silence filled the room for a moment.
That was big.
Laurent wasn’t just bitter.
He was watching.
Moving.
Preparing.
“So you flew across the ocean to tell me that?”
“No.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded document.
Not thick.
Not legal papers.
Just a few sheets.
He slid them across the desk.
“Read.”
I opened the pages.
At first, it looked like business records.
Names.
Dates.
Properties.
I started reading the notes under the names.
And the room tilted in my head.
Delacroix family members.
Old men.
Board members.
Advisors.
Investors.
But the notes weren’t financial.
They were crimes.
Abuse.
Rape allegations buried under money.
Women paid off.
Employees silenced.
Boys sent away to private schools after incidents.
Decades of filth.
Protected by wealth.
Protected by our name.
I flipped to the next page slowly.
More names.
More crimes.
My voice stayed calm.
“What is this?”
Marcel watched me carefully.
“You want to clean this family?”
“Yes.”
“Then start there.”
I looked up at him.
“These are Delacroix men, though.”
“I know.”
“Your brothers and cousins.”
“Some were.”
I leaned back in the chair, studying him.
“You’re asking me to kill members of our own family?”
“I’m asking you to remove rot.”
I read more of the notes.
Detailed.
Precise.
I could tell that Marcel had been collecting this information for years.
Maybe decades.
Finally, I asked the obvious question.
“Why didn’t you do it yourself?”
He sighed quietly.
“Politics.”
“Meaning?”
“Power requires alliances,” he said. “Some of these men were tied to business deals. Government contracts. Old favors.”
I waited.
He continued.
“And some accusations were never proven.”
Marcel looked me directly in the eye.
“I was weak where you won’t be.”
I looked down at the list again.
Names of men who thought they were untouchable.
Men who believed nobody would ever clean house.
I folded the pages slowly.
Marcel watched every movement.
“You want me to fix your mistakes,” I said calmly.
“I want you to build something better.”
I didn’t answer.
Didn’t argue.
Didn’t agree.
I just folded the paper once more and slid it into my inside jacket pocket.
Marcel’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Because silence is an answer.
And he knew exactly what mine meant.