CHAPTER FOUR #2
It doesn’t sit right, but then what the fuck does Lachlan know about how rich people live their lives?
Clara offered him a shower when he came through the door.
Alistair Penhalyx is a household name. Old money rebranded through modern innovation, but he’s notoriously private too.
Lachlan’s research turned up almost nothing, just the same polished biography in different fonts. He has no basis for comparison.
Perhaps seeing his hesitation, Clara adds, ‘Mr Penhalyx wants nothing but the best for his son.’
Lachlan nods. ‘Understood. Carry on.’
‘And finally, the morality clause.’ Clara takes another breath before reading.
‘For the duration of employment and for any period thereafter deemed necessary by Mr Penhalyx, you agree that your conduct, decisions, and professional judgement shall align with the interests, directives, and wellbeing of Alistair Penhalyx and no other party. This includes, without limitation, acting in accordance with his stated wishes, inferred expectations, and strategic objectives, whether articulated directly or implied through circumstance. You acknowledge that loyalty to Mr Penhalyx supersedes any personal conviction, moral hesitation, or ethical objection. In situations involving conflict of duty, conscience, or competing obligations, Mr Penhalyx’s authority shall be recognised as paramount.
You further agree to conduct yourself in a manner that reflects unwavering allegiance.
Any demonstration of divided loyalty, hesitancy, independent judgement contrary to Mr Penhalyx’s preferences, or communication with parties deemed adversarial to him, will constitute breach.
Voluntas mea in carne scribitur. Quod tactum est, meum fit.
Quod meum est, aeternum manet. Sigillo sanguinis confirmatur.
Ita fiat. Ita maneat. In signing, you acknowledge that loyalty is not symbolic. It’s binding, active, and enforceable.’
He’s already read the whole thing but hearing it spoken aloud really is something. He doesn’t remember there being whatever that other language was. ‘I’m sorry, what was that last part?’ Lachlan skips to the end of his copy, but can’t find it anywhere.
‘Legacy language,’ the lawyer explains smoothly. ‘The Penhalyx family has used the same contractual framework for decades. Some ceremonial phrasing remains in the older drafts, I believe.’
‘Right.’
All three of them look at him.
‘So, Lachlan,’ Clara says. ‘Good to go?’
‘What if I had amendment suggestions?’
‘The contract will not be amended further,’ the lawyer says calmly. ‘To restructure it at this stage would take months of legal review, and Mr Penhalyx is under no obligation to delay for a candidate who remains uncertain about the terms. We had thousands of applications for this post, Mr Tanner.’
Lachlan faithfully promised his cousin he wouldn’t sign without putting forth the amendments she wrote out for him, but the truth is that half a million a year is too much to refuse given the situation with their family.
He’s signed himself away before, anyway. Might as well do it again.
‘OK, sure. I’ll sign.’
‘Perfect.’ Clara Barnes hands him a pen. Lachlan Tanner puts his signature on the fresh copy slid across Alistair Penhalyx’s desk to him, not folded or creased, like his copy. When it’s done, the lawyers whip it away. ‘You can start today, yes?’
‘Yeah, that’s fine.’ He’d already told her in the interview he would. Lachlan has been living out of a motel the last two months.
‘Shall we send for your things?’
‘I don’t need anything.’
‘You understand that this position is live-in?’
‘I do.’
‘And you have nothing to bring?’
Lachlan shrugs. ‘I’ll buy what I need.’
They seem baffled but move on quickly.
‘Very well.’ Clara turns to face him properly.
‘You’ll be paid monthly. After two years, assuming your performance remains satisfactory, you may request annual payment in advance instead.
You’ll also be issued an expense account for routine operational costs.
Anything larger, security upgrades, structural work, renovations to the East Wing et cetera, will be handled through the main Penhalyx family accounts.
Simply authorise what you need and the contractors will bill us directly. ’
‘Heard. Tell me about the children.’
‘You already know a little of Julian from our interview.’ Julian Penhalyx, seventeen years old.
‘The youngest is Jessamine Cassandra Penhalyx, though everyone calls her Mimi. She’s three years old.
Her safety falls under your jurisdiction, however, she is not the primary asset you are being hired to manage.
She already has a dedicated team of thoroughly vetted childminders.
You will not be expected to care for her directly. ’
Thank God.
‘And Julian?’ Lachlan asks. ‘What kind of protection are we talking about? Public appearances? Functions? Travel?’
‘Your role is to manage and shadow Julian within the Estate itself.’
‘He’s a runner?’
Clara simply smiles. ‘I wouldn’t want to ruin the suspense, Mr Tanner. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.’
‘Lachlan, please. I hate Mr Tanner.’
‘As you say.’
‘So I report to Mr Penhalyx, but in practice I’ll be dealing with you?’
‘You will,’ Clara confirms. ‘Mr Penhalyx oversees all staff evaluations personally and will involve himself whenever he deems necessary. The Estate is fitted with comprehensive surveillance coverage. He is generally aware of what happens here, whether physically present or not.’ She rises and Lachlan follows suit automatically.
The lawyers are already gathering their things to leave.
‘This is the house book.’ Clara hands him a thick bound volume.
‘It covers the Estate itself, security procedures, household protocol and staff structure, blueprints, and so forth. Your suite is on the third floor of the East Wing near the children’s rooms.’ She slides a black box across the table towards him.
Inside sits a brand-new phone and tablet.
‘What are they?’
‘These are your assigned devices. You are not permitted your own phone.’
‘I don’t need—’
‘And finally, do you already have someone in mind for a personal assistant, or would you prefer one be assigned to you?’
‘No, thank you.’
What the fuck would he need that for?
‘You have one in mind?’
‘I don’t need one.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘Very well. Any questions before you get started?’
‘No, we’re clear.’
‘Would you like to meet the children?’
‘I’d prefer to map the grounds first, get a feel of the place.’
‘Certainly.’ Clara walks him out. ‘Welcome to the family.’
?
The Estate is enormous.
A brief glance at the blueprints in The Book tells him much of what he needs to know. He was shown to his quarters, or suite as Clara called it, by a member of the security team, a man named Adrian Rook.
‘How many in your team?’ Lachlan asks him after they shake hands and he corrects Mr Tanner to Lachlan.
‘Four.’
‘Four teams?’
‘Four total, sir.’
‘How many overall?’
‘Four, sir.’
‘For the whole of the East Wing?’
‘No, sir. The whole Estate.’
‘One unit per wing?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The former head of security, how many did he hire?’
‘Myself and one other.’
Lachlan feels certain he’s missing something. ‘So to be clear,’ he says after a cursory glance inside his suite, ‘Four people for this whole place?’
‘Correct, sir.’
‘Fuck me.’
Rook snorts, tries to bury it. ‘Sorry, sir.’
‘All right. Tell me about Control.’
‘Sir?’
‘The Control Room. Eyes in the sky.’
‘Surveillance is monitored by a technician.’
‘Just one?’ Rook nods. Lachlan sighs. ‘There’s gonna be a lot of changes.’
‘Understood, sir.’
‘Drop the “Sir”, and we use “heard” going forward.’
Rook smiles. ‘Heard.’
Lachlan meets with all the staff, regardless of area or occupation. He’s corrected Mr Tanner to Lachlan about three dozen times now.
He does two full circuits.
Once around the entire Estate and then one of the grounds which are insanely extensive.
Helicopter landing pad, a lake, an artificial waterfall.
Groundskeepers, greenhouses full of imported plants, private orchards, sculptures and a family mausoleum, the name PENHALYX carved in stone above the door.
He scopes out a private underground driveable tunnel leading to a secondary exit miles away, which is good although sorely unmanned.
The place is everything he expected and more in terms of luxury and grandeur, except for the total lack of any chlorinated swimming pools.
He drops in on the “control room” which is little more than a glorified night watch desk. It’s situated directly in the centre of the Estate; well positioned yet poorly equipped. Good bones, bad armour. It seems to be a theme.
After two hours, Lachlan has mapped it out in his head.
The North Wing exists to display the weight of Penhalyx wealth and legacy.
Paintings valuable enough to require their own insurance policies line the walls beside glass cabinets of untouched heirlooms and carefully lit artefacts no one is permitted to handle.
Guests are clearly guided through it when access is granted.
It’s the most aesthetically impressive section of the Estate, and the least lived in.
Lachlan names it, November Sky.