THE DISCARDED SON-IN-LAWS GOD-LEVEL DOMINION SYSTEM

Chapter 21

The Hawthorne Hotel glittered like a jewel box.

Ethan stepped out of the black car in front of the great glass doors and paused to straighten his cuffs. A long red carpet ran across the front steps. Photographers lined both sides, their cameras clicking in rapid bursts. Men in tuxedos and women in long gowns passed in and out of the golden light. Valets hurried between the cars. Somewhere behind the doors, a string quartet played something slow and elegant.

He wore the black suit with a white shirt and no tie. The jade pendant hung hidden under his collar. In his inner pocket, the iron key and the black notebook pressed softly against his ribs.

Daniel followed half a step behind. "Mr. Cross, I still think this is a trap."

"Yes," Ethan said. "It is."

"Then why..."

"Because the best way to see how a spider builds its web is to walk into it." He stepped onto the carpet.

The flashbulbs exploded. A dozen reporters shouted at once. "Mr. Cross! Mr. Cross! Are the rumors true about the river road? Mr. Cross! Did you really buy the Harbor Nine Casino? Mr. Cross! Is it true you plan to run for the Chamber of Commerce?"

Ethan did not answer. He walked up the red carpet with calm, steady steps, and the crowd parted before him like water.

Inside, the ballroom was a sea of crystal and gold. A huge chandelier hung from a painted ceiling. Hundreds of guests stood in clusters holding champagne flutes. Along one wall, a long row of antique paintings and statues stood on pedestals, each with a small card. At the far end of the room, a low stage held a podium and a row of velvet-covered display cases.

A tall woman in a deep green gown approached him at once.

She was about twenty-five. Her black hair was swept up from her face, and her eyes were gray and clear and sharp as glass. She wore only a thin silver necklace, nothing else. She moved the way a person moves who has never once doubted where she stood in a room.

"Mr. Cross," she said. Her voice was cool and low. "I am Isabella Hawthorne. Welcome to my family's hotel."

"Miss Hawthorne."

"I have been wanting to meet you." Her gaze moved over his face and then, briefly, down to the collar of his shirt. "You have caused a great deal of noise in a short time."

"I did not intend to."

"I believe that. Which is why I find you interesting." A faint smile touched the corner of her mouth. "Julian is waiting on the balcony. He has been talking about you all week. I should warn you. He is very charming. That is how he hides what he is."

Ethan studied her face. She had said it lightly, but her eyes were not light.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I do not like my family's friends." She tilted her head slightly. "Enjoy the auction, Mr. Cross. Some of the pieces are very old. One in particular, I think, will interest you."

She turned and walked away through the crowd, her green dress trailing behind her like water.

Ethan looked after her. A loud voice rose from the entrance behind him before he could finish the thought.

"Wait. Wait. Is that the cleaner?"

A heavy young man in a white tuxedo pushed through the crowd with a glass in each hand. He was about thirty, with slick hair and red cheeks and a gold watch the size of a small plate. Three other young men trailed behind him, grinning. People nearby turned to look.

"Brandon Lockwood," the man announced to no one in particular. He swayed slightly. "My father owns the north port. I just wanted to say hello to the famous Ethan Cross. The great man who used to carry my friend Victor's golf bag." He raised his glass. "Ladies and gentlemen! Look! The cleaner has learned to wear a suit!"

His friends burst out laughing. A woman nearby covered her smile with a fan.

Ethan turned slowly and looked at Brandon. His face showed nothing.

"You are Lockwood's son," he said.

"The only one," Brandon said proudly. "Which means you should show some respect. My father could have you crushed with a phone call. Everyone here knows it. Do you not, ladies and gentlemen?"

"I know your father's phone calls," Ethan said calmly. "Nine hundred and twelve in the last ten years to a number in the Silver Pavilion. Eleven of them lasted less than a minute. Would you like me to tell the room what was said in each one?"

Brandon's grin froze.

"I also know," Ethan continued, "that yesterday at four in the afternoon, your father sold his shares of the north port to a company called Cross Holdings. At a very reasonable price. He did not tell you, because he needed the money for your gambling debts in Macau." He glanced at the gold watch. "Which, by the way, is no longer yours. It was part of the collateral."

A hush spread through the crowd. Brandon looked at his wrist. His friends stopped laughing. One of them took half a step away from him.

"That is a lie," Brandon whispered.

"Call your father."

Brandon fumbled for his phone. His hands shook so badly that he dropped it. It hit the marble floor and slid between two ladies' shoes. He went down on one knee to grab it, red-faced, in front of hundreds of people. Ethan stepped around him without looking back.

Behind him, the whispers rose like wind. Someone started laughing. This time it was not at Ethan.

[Isabella Hawthorne,] the System noted quietly. [Daughter of Hawthorne, one of the Four Pillars. Allegiance: Unknown.]

He crossed the ballroom toward the balcony. The doors were open, and a cool wind drifted in from the night.

A man stood at the railing with a glass of wine in his hand. He was lean and elegant, with soft brown hair and a face that was almost beautiful. His suit was pearl gray. A silk handkerchief peeked from his breast pocket. When he turned, his smile was warm and friendly and perfectly practiced.

"Ethan," Julian Sterling said. "May I call you Ethan? I feel we are already old friends."

"You may call me Mr. Cross."

Julian laughed softly, delighted. "Oh, that is wonderful. Exactly what I expected." He set down his glass. "Please, walk with me. I would like to show you the collection before the bidding begins."

They strolled along the wall of antiques together. Julian spoke easily about each piece. A jade horse from the Tang dynasty. A bronze mirror. A silk screen painted with cranes. His voice was gentle, his manner polite, almost kind. If Ethan had not known better, he might have thought they were two businessmen discussing art.

"I admire what you have done," Julian said. "Truly. Taking Whitmore Group in a single morning. Breaking Kane. Shattering Black Tiger. I would not have thought it possible." He paused before a glass case. "I only wonder what you plan to do next."

"I have not decided."

"Of course." Julian smiled. "But I hope you will consider something. My family and the others are not your enemies. We are old friends of the Cross house. What happened ten years ago was a very sad misunderstanding, and we have waited a long time to make amends."

"Amends."

"We would like to offer the Cross family a place at our table. A full seat. All the power and respect your father held. In exchange for one small thing." Julian turned to face him. His eyes were soft and brown and perfectly calm. "The pendant you wear. The Dragon Seal. Give it to us willingly, and the past is forgiven."

Ethan looked at him for a long moment.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I will be very sad," Julian said gently. "Because I like you, Ethan. I really do. It would be a shame."

The two men stood facing each other under the golden light. Around them, the party moved on, laughing and glittering. Nobody noticed the small silence at the center of the room.

Then a bell rang from the stage. A man in a dark suit stepped up to the podium and tapped the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the auction will begin in five minutes. Please take your seats."

Julian bowed slightly. "Excuse me. I must make a short speech. Please, enjoy yourself. And think about my offer."

He walked away through the crowd with an easy smile. Ethan watched him go.

The System glowed softly in his vision.

[Julian Sterling. Heir of Sterling. Assessment: Extremely dangerous.]

[Hidden weapon detected: Poison ring. Left hand.]

Ethan almost smiled. He turned and walked toward the rows of velvet chairs.

On the center display case near the stage, a small card read Lot Twenty-Three. Beneath it, on a bed of black velvet, lay a bronze ring about the size of a coin. Its surface was green with age. And carved across its face, eaten by time but still clear, was a coiled dragon.

Ethan stopped walking.

The dragon on the ring was exactly the same as the dragon on his pendant.