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Chapter 114
“Bucky, you old dog,” Magnus said, his eyes scanning the opulent hall with an almost possessive glint. “Still barking at shadows, I see.” He then turned his attention to Max, who had remained rooted to the spot, his jaw tight. “And little Maxwell. My, my. All grown up, aren’t we? Still playing at being the lord of the manor, I presume?”Lena, sensing the immediate escalation of tension, stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “Magnus, Vincenzo. You’re early. We weren’t expecting you until this afternoon.”Magnus’s eyes lingered on Lena, a lecherous smirk spreading across his face. “And who is this delightful creature? Is this the new… *houseguest*, Maxwell? Or perhaps your new *hoe*?”The air in the foyer crackled. Max’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. His eyes, usually so calm, blazed with cold fury. “Watch your tongue, Magnus,” he said, his voice low, a dangerous rumble. “Lena is a valued member of this household. And a friend.”Vincenzo chuckled, a dry, ras
Chapter 113
The muffled screams were the first thing. A child’s, thin and sharp, piercing through the fog, then the fiery smell of gunpowder, metallic and sickening. Max seemed to lose his ability to see, blurred vision, a rainbow of shadows and flashes of light, and the loud murmur of bodies collapsing to the ground. He was small, so small, hiding behind something cold and hard, peeking through a crack. Two figures that didn’t appear to be distinct, falling. A woman’s hand, reaching, then still. A man’s arm outstretched. Then there was a voice, not a scream, but an unbelievably awful shout, echoing in the void: “FERNANDO! ”Max got up in the bed and a gasp lashed out of his throat. “Fernando, ” the name echoed in his ears. Brutally hitting his ribs, the sweat dripping on his skin. He blinked, settling back into his bedroom feeling a fraction of the chaos from the nightmare slowly replacing the chaos. The tall windows looked into his bedroom and were already bright. He wriggled his legs over the
Chapter 112
Max listened with all his heart and all his soul to Gina’s sobbing, pleading, begging. He could not understand his expression, it was tame and unremarkable. He did not interrupt, he did not whine, and he did not offer a single word of comfort. With the look on his face, he watched the performance with an intense concentration that was far more sinister than any breathlessness of temper could have been. There were tears streaming down Gina’s face; her voice now hoarse in the exertion in her sobbing; her grip on Max’s arm tightened to the point of pain; and she waited and waited shivering for some signal. a flicker of emotion, anything that might indicate a crack in his composure, a hint that her desperate act was working.“Please Max, ” she choked, her voice almost whispered, “just say something! Anything! Don’t just look at me like that! ”She squeezed his arm again tighter and more hardened: “I know I messed things up! I know! But people change, Max! I changed! You gotta believe me! ”
Chapter 113
Days turned to weeks. And the rumors about Ethan’s family kept coming out louder like a fever that spread indefinitely through the elite circles of Paris. It started sneaky; a raised eyebrow here, a cold nod there — fed by the reporter’s article and Max’s almost non-existent influence, it seems. Then the rumors turned into facts. News came in: first it came as rumors in obscure financial blogs, then as stories of great suspicion in trusted publications, details of misdeeds within Baron Industries, Ethan’s father’s sprawling organization of holdings – embezzlement of labor from overseas factories, violation of the environment in their manufacturing plants, various kinds of egregious financial maneuvers to boost profits over their limits and avoid paying taxes. The once almost impenetrable facade of the Baron family began to crumble, brick by brick.“Did you see the headlines today?” a student muttered in the school cafeteria, holding up a tablet displaying a damning exposé. “Baron Indu
Chapter 112
The formal dinner was winding down. The atmosphere was filled with the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee and the low hum of happy gossip. Crystal bleated faintly, the last scraps of these exquisite desserts were being removed from the tables. Max still at his place of honor at the VIP table was having a secret conversation with Isabelle Moreau and Jean-Luc Dubois, Trisha's hand gently resting on his arm.By some slipping pause, a woman left a nearby table and approached Max’s. She was a woman in her late thirtys, tastefully dressed, with sharp and pointed eyes that seemed to carry every detail with them. She had a small notebook and a pen in her pocket. It was Eleanor Vance, senior journalist at a leading international business magazine whose interviews were always savvy and for which she received outstanding reviews. She could peel back the corporate language, looking for the truth.“Mr. Lesley, ” she said with a respectful but firm tone of voice, in a straight-on way to Max.
Chapter 111
Obviously, that evening, the air in the private dining room of the Hôtel de Crillon was filled with the smell of truffle oil, expensive perfume and quiet power. And this wasn’t a networking event, this was a private dinner prepared by the very investors who had just been as impressed with Max as I had. The guest list was carefully thought out, a cabal of European finance, tech and art.Gina and Ethan, having gotten invitations through Ethan’s father’s now waning networks of connections, were momentarily out of place. Ethan in the stiff-fitting tuxedo squished together in his hand after a few nervous glances, held out the arms of Gina who was sitting in a shimmering silver dress which suddenly seemed rather loud with her smile crackling; they were led to a less visible table which was located just near the entrance of the kitchen, the sound of dishes constantly reminding them that they were “outside” of it.“This is... this is stupid, ” Ethan muttered, his voice tight and almost exhali
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