Chapter 17 Amos
Amos
The morning after the subspace incident, Mattaniah's cheeks are a permanent shade of pink.
I notice it the moment he steps off the elevator onto the executive floor.
His posture is perfect and his shirt is pressed and his curls are tamed into something professional, but his face is flushed in a way that has nothing to do with temperature.
He catches my eye across the floor and immediately looks away. The pink deepens to red.
Tamsin notices. She glances from Mattaniah's face to me to the elevator I just stepped out of, and I watch her file the information away with the same precision I use for financial discrepancies.
The whispers start around ten. I'm on the twelfth floor reviewing audit reports when my assistant mentions that "something happened on the executive floor this morning.
" She doesn't elaborate, but the way she says it tells me the gossip has already spread through at least three departments.
By eleven, two separate break room conversations have stopped abruptly the second I walked in.
Mattaniah's scent has changed. Everyone can smell it. The blockers he doubled up on this morning aren't hiding the way he's been marked by two Alphas for the better part of a week, and the people who work closely enough with him to notice are noticing.
I find excuses to be on the executive floor three times before lunch.
Each time, Mattaniah is at his desk with his head down and his cheeks burning, radiating the kind of forced focus that tells me he's counting the minutes until five o'clock.
Richard is in meetings all morning, which is the only reason I'm not more concerned.
The moment that man gets a clear look at how thoroughly his sons have claimed the Omega he's been circling, things will escalate in ways none of us are ready for.
Dominic texts me at noon. I'm at my desk eating a sandwich I can't taste, scrolling through the supplier contract I'm supposed to be reviewing.
How is he?
I set the sandwich down and type back. Embarrassed. Flushed. Trying to disappear into his cubicle.
Should I come up?
No. Your scent will make it worse. Let him get through the day.
A pause long enough that I pick the sandwich back up. Then: I hate this.
I know.
I'm back to the supplier contract, forcing myself to focus on delivery timelines instead of the Omega three floors above me, when the call comes through.
"Mr. Hale, there's a woman in the lobby claiming to be Mrs. Hale. She's requesting executive floor access."
I set my pen down. "Describe her."
"Mid-forties, dark hair, expensive dress. Says she's Mr. Richard Hale's wife and she needs to speak with him immediately about a household matter."
Mattaniah's mother.
"Don't let her up. I'll be down in five minutes."
The elevator ride gives me time to compose the version of myself I'll need for this conversation. Dominic calls it my "shark face," the cold, dismissive Amos who sits in board meetings and watches men twice his age squirm under questions they can't answer.
She's standing near the security desk when the elevator doors open, her posture radiating a manufactured confidence I've seen Mattaniah perform a hundred times. The difference is that Mattaniah's armor has cracks. Hers looks seamless until you know where to press.
"Mrs. Hale." I cross the lobby toward her with my hands in my pockets and my expression pleasant and utterly empty. "I don't believe we've truly had a moment so spend together since we met."
"Amos, let’s not pretend, here, okay?" Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "You’re the accountant and I know all about you, okay?"
"Senior Forensic Accountant, actually. And you're not Mrs. Hale."
The smile freezes. "Excuse me?"
"You're not Mrs. Hale. You're not married to Richard.
You're not on any company accounts, you're not listed on building access, and you have no executive privileges here.
" I stop three feet in front of her, close enough to have a conversation, far enough to make her feel the distance. "You're a guest in Richard's home."
"I'm his partner. We live together."
"Do you?" I tilt my head. "When was the last time you were in the same room with him for more than a random dinner date? When was the last time he spoke to you directly instead of through the household staff?"
Her face goes tight because there isn't an answer.
"Richard has dinner meetings six nights a week.
" I keep my voice conversational, the tone I use when presenting data that I know will upset the person hearing it.
"He leaves for the office at six in the morning and doesn't return until nine at night.
On weekends he golfs with board members or attends charity functions where plus-ones aren't invited.
" I let that settle. "You've been living in his house for almost three weeks.
How many actual conversations have you had with the man? "
"That's none of your business."
"It becomes my business when you show up at my workplace claiming a status you don't have." I gesture toward the door. "Security will call you a car. If you need to reach Richard, I suggest going through his assistant like everyone else."
Her composure cracks just enough for me to see the fear underneath. She's realizing, perhaps for the first time, that the position she thought she'd secured doesn't actually exist.
"Mattaniah works here." Her voice goes sharp. "I have every right to—"
"Your son is an employee of Hale Industries. If you need to contact him, you can call his personal phone." I nod to the security guards. "Gentlemen, please escort Mrs..." I pause deliberately. "I'm sorry, I don't actually know your surname. Please escort this woman to the curb."
She walks out flanked by two guards, her back rigid with humiliation. I watch until she's through the revolving door and into a waiting taxi before returning to the elevator and pulling out my phone.
A text to Dominic: Mattaniah's mother just tried to access the building as "Mrs. Hale." Handled. She's starting to realize her position isn't what she thought.
His response comes thirty seconds later: Good. Let her sweat.
The elevator opens on the executive floor and I nearly collide with Mattaniah.
He's standing three feet from the doors with a folder clutched to his chest, his eyes wide, his cheeks still carrying that permanent flush.
The folder is the same prop he's been using all week, last month's interdepartmental memos that serve no purpose other than giving his hands something to hold.
"Amos." He says my name like he's been caught doing something wrong. "I was just—the filing system—"
"Niah." I step out of the elevator and let the doors close behind me. "You don't need a prop with me either."
His face goes redder as he lowers the folder an inch.
"What happened?" He's looking at the elevator like he can see through the floor to the lobby below. "Tamsin said security called you down. She said there was a woman claiming to be—" He stops. His face shifts from embarrassed to something harder. "My mother."
"Your mother," I confirm.
"She came here?"
"She tried to access the executive floor as 'Mrs. Hale' and demanded to see Richard about a household matter." I lean against the wall, keeping my posture casual. "Security called me because Dominic wasn't answering and Richard was in a meeting."
Mattaniah's jaw tightens. "What did she want?"
"Access. And the status that comes with it." I watch his face as the information lands. "I sent her away. She doesn't have building clearance, and I wasn't about to escort her up to Richard's office so she could play devoted wife in front of his staff."
"She's never shown this much interest in her marks before," he says after a long moment, his grip on the folder gone white-knuckled. "Usually by now she's settled into the routine, spending money and ignoring me and waiting for the payout. She doesn't insert herself like this."
"Maybe this mark is smarter than she planned." I push off the wall and close the distance between us, stopping close enough to smell the chemical edge of his blockers straining against the warmth of his scent underneath. "Or maybe she's finally realized she's not as secure as she thought."
"That's worse." His voice drops. "When she scrambles, people get hurt. Usually me."
"Not this time." I reach out and let my thumb trace the curve of his ear before I catch myself and drop my hand.
"She doesn't have access to this building, she doesn't have access to Richard, and she definitely doesn't have access to you while you're here.
" I take a step back. "Go back to work, alright? Let me worry about your mother."
"You shouldn't have to worry about her at all."
"I worry about everything, Niah. It's what I do." I take another step toward the elevator. "Besides, watching her realize she's not as clever as she thinks she is? That's not a burden. That's entertainment."
The corner of his mouth twitches. It’s not quite a smile, but close enough.
"You're kind of scary sometimes," he says. "You know that?"
"Dominic likes to remind me." I press the elevator button. "Now go file your prop folder before Tamsin comes looking for you."
I watch Mattaniah disappear across the floor to his cubicle before heading back to my desk and pulling up the security footage from the lobby.
I save it to a secure folder and add a note to the file I've been building on her since the day she arrived, cross-referencing it against the spending patterns and the timeline of previous marks that Mattaniah has mentioned in passing.
Something about her visit doesn't sit right. She's worried about something specific, worried enough to show up at Hale Industries in person and risk the humiliation of being turned away. A woman who's simply coasting on a mark's money doesn't insert herself into his workplace.
My phone buzzes. Dominic: Dinner tonight? Just the three of us. Father has a board function.
I type back: You’re paying this time.
A smile cracks across my face because I don’t pay for shit. Even with the paycheck that drops into my bank account every two weeks, Dominic takes care of me as my Alpha, absurd as that is.