Chapter 12
Blake
Edmund's private study reminds me a lot of Nonno’s. He’s a man who's been consolidating power for fifty years, so it’s full of heavy mahogany furniture, first edition books behind glass, and smells like expensive Cuban cigars and secrets– the kind that get people killed when they dig too deep.
While Edmund is fifty years my senior, and I could easily bitch slap him into next week, I’ve learned to never underestimate any living, breathing thing. Old or not, anybody can pull a gun and shoot. Bullets don’t discriminate. So when he closes the door behind us, I immediately catalog the exits.
One door we came through. Windows overlooking the gardens, third floor, thirty-foot drop to frozen ground. A second door, partially hidden behind a bookshelf, which was probably an old servant’s entrance, and a possible escape route if things go badly.
I could also just shoot the motherfucker. It would make life a lot simpler for Peyton.
Edmund moves to a sideboard and pours himself a scotch without offering us any. Power move. He’s establishing dominance through casual rudeness. I’ve done it myself a million times.
"I'll be direct," he says, settling into the chair behind his desk like it's a throne. "I am aware of who you are and what the DNA tests revealed."
“Okay.” Peyton doesn't flinch. "Then you know I have a legal claim to the Kingsley trust.”
"Legal, perhaps. But legality and reality are often at odds in Wintervale." He sips his scotch, studying her over the rim of the glass. "The question is what you intend to do with that claim."
"Enforce it."
"At what cost? Your father's career? Your own reputation?
The stability of institutions that have governed this town for generations?
" Edmund sets down his glass with careful precision.
"I'm offering you an alternative. A way to benefit from your heritage without destroying everything in the process. "
"Let me guess, I sign over my proxy votes, take a lump sum payment, and disappear quietly. Just like you all wanted my mother to do."
"Your mother was unreasonable. Emotional. She let pride cloud her judgment." Edmund's voice hardens. "I'm hoping you're smarter than she was."
I feel Peyton tense beside me, rage coiling tight. My hand finds the small of her back, a reminder to stay controlled, stay focused. Anger is useful only when it's cold.
"My mother," Peyton says, her voice deadly quiet, "was a Kingsley and your niece. She was murdered because she had the audacity to uncover it. Are you admitting right now that’s why you had her silenced?”
Edmund's expression doesn't change. "Your mother died in a tragic car accident that was thoroughly investigated and ruled a mechanical failure."
"Thoroughly investigated by prosecutors on your payroll.
Ruled by medical examiners you bought off.
Buried by officials who owed you favors.
" Peyton steps forward, and there's something magnificent about her fury channeled into precision.
“And I bet if I do a little thoughtful digging, I can uncover every person you paid to orchestrate her murder, or was it one of your greedy kids who did the actual dirty work?”
For the first time, Edmund's composure cracks. Just slightly, just enough to reveal the calculation happening behind his eyes.
“You shouldn’t indulge in such conspiracy theories.”
Peyton smooths her hands down the side of her dress. “Since you know everything, you must already know that the paperwork for my claim has been filed with the courts. Soon, I’ll be Miss Peyton Kingsley Quinn, and I look forward to all the bells and whistles that come with my new name.”
I’m proud as hell of my woman as she stands in defiance of one of the most powerful men in this town, not to mention she looks drop-dead gorgeous as she does it.
Edmund stands slowly, and there's a genuine threat in the movement. Not physical, I’m sensing he's too civilized for that, too practiced at letting others do his violence, but it’s the kind of menace that comes from having unlimited resources and no moral limitations.
"You're making a mistake," he says. "A very costly one. The Kingsley operation is mine to rule, and I’m not going to let some watered-down, wet behind the ears, political flunkee come in here and trash it.”
"Is that a threat?" I ask, speaking for the first time, my hand close to my Glock. Honestly, I just want to shoot the bastard and be done with this, or better yet, let Silas kill the fucker and his bastard kids.
"It's a statement of fact." Edmund's gaze shifts to me, and there's contempt there, barely concealed. "Blake Delano. The black sheep who burned his family's operation and ran away rather than face consequences. Tell me, does Peyton know everything about why you're really here?"
The question lands wrong, weighted with meaning I don't immediately understand.
"Blake told me everything," Peyton says. "About Silas's orders, about White Ember, about why he came back and why he stayed."
"Everything?" Edmund's smile is cold, satisfied. "Did he tell you that he knew your mother? That three years ago, Lila came to him, to Blake specifically, asking for help proving her Kingsley heritage?"
I feel as if a block of ice landed on my chest. There’s no way he can know about that. Nobody knows about that.
"Your mother sought him out because she'd heard about White Ember.
Heard that Blake Delano was the one member of his family with a conscience.
" Edmund pulls a folder from his desk drawer and slides it across to Peyton.
"My niece asked him to help her. To use his family connections to verify the genealogy, to protect her while she made her claim. And this man you trust…” He pauses for effect.
“He turned her away. He told her it was none of his business and that he couldn't help her. Do I have that right, Delano?”
Peyton's looking at me now, and I see the exact moment the betrayal registers. The exact moment she realizes I've been keeping this from her. The weight of her stare has knocked all the wind out of me.
"Blake?" Her voice is barely a whisper. "Is that true?"
I can't lie to her. Not about this.
"Yes," I say quietly. “But we can discuss it later. There’s more to the story.”
"You knew her?” She steps back, away from me, and the distance feels like a chasm opening. "You knew my mother was in danger and you did nothing?”
"I didn’t know anything about the trust, Peyton, and I sure as shit didn’t know Edmund would murder his own kin."
“You didn't help her." Peyton's voice is rising now, pain and fury mixing. "You could have protected her. Could have used your family connections, your resources, your knowledge of how this town works."
Edmund sits back in his chair, his drink in his hand, pleased with the chasm he’s created between Peyton and me.
“You sent her away alone to die." She's crying now, angry tears she's not even trying to hide. "My mother died because she had no one. Because the one person who might have helped her turned her away. Because you were too selfish to do the right thing."
“I promise you that I didn’t know she was in danger, and after what I did at the warehouse, I needed distance from this town and all its favors.
” I move to grab Peyton at the waist. I want to throw her ass over my shoulder and get the hell out of here.
I need to talk to her without any distractions and away from this old fucker.
“She asked for your help for a reason. Everything is dangerous in Wintervale,” She holds up a hand, stops me from moving closer. "Don't touch me. I can't—I need to think."
Edmund's watching this with barely concealed satisfaction. He's won. Fractured us with the truth I should have told her days ago.
“Wait, did you only take this assignment and come back to Wintervale because you heard it involved me? Are you protecting me out of guilt?” Peyton's laugh is bitter, broken. “What the hell else have you been hiding?"
"Peyton, I know this is painful.” Edmund's voice is almost gentle, sympathetic. Playing the concerned great-uncle now that he's destroyed our alliance. “But you see now why you can't trust Blake or any of them. The Delanos are only loyal to themselves."
"And the Kingsleys are better?" She rounds on him.
“No, we’re not,” Edmund leans forward. “That’s what I’m trying to explain.
My sister made her choice when she married that radical black man in the 1960s.
She knew the consequences. This is Wintervale, not Manhattan,” he mocks.
“And your mother made her choice when she came after what wasn't hers. The Kinglsey money goes to actual Kingsleys who do the work every day, like me, to protect the legacy.”
“Your father created an iron-clad trust for a reason,” Peyton says angrily. “He wanted his daughter and her descendants to be provided for regardless of who she married, and I’m here to honor that man’s dying wish. And neither one of you lying motherfuckers is going to stop me.”
Fuck, now she’s lumped me in her Wintervale pool of enemies. I can’t blame her, but it stings nonetheless.
"Perhaps, but I'm offering you something Blake can’t…a future. Safety. A place in this world that doesn't require you to trust a man who's already betrayed you once."
"By signing away my power and letting you control me?” Peyton's voice is exhausted. "No, I’m not doing that either."
"Then what will you do?" Edmund asks. "You're alone. Surrounded by enemies. With no allies you can trust. Not even your own father. If you’re wondering, the moment he learned about the trust, he immediately tried to figure out how he could take advantage of it like the reptile that he is.”
"I'll figure it out." She pretends as if the information he just delivered didn’t hurt her, but I know better. Then she moves toward the door, doesn't look at me. "I always do."