Shattered Dynasty

Most people find what I do risky, but it’s the opposite. My clients are influential, their political friends equally so. They mitigate the risks. I had a higher chance of investigation before I went the dirty money route than after.

We have enough crooked politicians on payroll to make sure we’re never the target of an investigation. That doesn’t mean the companies we go after won’t come after us, but at least the government is on our side.

As I fire off an email to Tobias requesting a meeting later this week, I hear footsteps approaching through the door. Margret is back.

“That was fast,” I note as soon as the door swings open.

She settles in her little lounging couch, sans Payton. “I set her up in the rec room. She’s helping paint pottery.”

“Does she know anything about pottery?” I ask.

“I didn’t say she was making pottery. I said she was helping paint pottery.”

“Got it,” I say, pocketing my phone.

“Now that we have that settled, why don’t you tell me what this is really about?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I smile. It’s a crooked smile. One that tells Margret, who has known me for a long time, that I know exactly what she’s talking about. I just don’t want to tell her. I know she won’t take the hint. Seventy-eight is long enough to learn to take no bullshit, especially when you have a spine like Margret’s.

“Really, Trent?” She shakes her head. “You’re going to play this game with me of all people?”

I pull out the itinerary she drafted for next month, skimming it without really paying attention to the words written. “All you need to know is that Payton will be coming three days a week to help you.”

“How come I feel this is a lot deeper than that?”

“It is. But you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that.” I straighten from her seat, setting the pamphlet down. “Just, from now on, give her the harder work. Serving food. Cleaning up the toilets.” I beam at her, and she shakes her head at me.

“Trent?”

“What?”

“We have a large staff you pay to do that,” she responds, and I shrug, staring at the floor long enough to make Margret shift in her seat.

Hear that, Dad? Your little princess will be cleaning up shit.

I return my attention to Margret. “So. Now you have a free hand, too,” I add with a grin. “You’ve been begging me to reach out for volunteers for ages. Consider Payton ten volunteers in one. Treat her like it, too.”

Margret studies me, her eyes narrowing before she speaks. “I’m not going to make her do hard labor precisely because I’ve been begging for more volunteers to entertain the residents. What will others think if I make our volunteers work like that? No one will want to come to sit and read with our clients.”

“Not my problem.”

“Actually, as the person who owns this place, it is exactly your problem.”

“Cut that out, Mar,” I say lightly. “No mentioning of my involvement here.”

This fact is nonnegotiable. Everyone who works here already knows this. I held a meeting solely for this purpose. Lots of ironclad NDAs went around.

“Why?” Her voice softens. She meets me at the center of the room, forcing me to look at her. “You do a great service to everyone. We should be singing your praises, not hiding the fact you are a good man.”

“I have a reputation to uphold.”

Margret’s hand reaches out, and she pats my shoulder, reminding me of my mother before Dad fucked her over hard.

“Fine,” she says. “But I can’t be held responsible for some of the people here. They love you. Eventually, this girl will find out the truth.”

“Until then, keep a lid on it.”

“Why are you doing this again?” she tries again.

I incline my head, giving her a look that tells her she’s better off not knowing. “I told you not to ask.”

“Just tell me,” she presses.

“To drive her insane.”

“Why?”

“The less you know, the better.” I step aside and move to leave. “Trust me, she deserves it.”

She lets out a sigh. “Very well. Toilets it is. But only when we are short-staffed.”

With that, I leave the room.

Time to play cards.

21

Payton

* * *

We’re back in the car two hours later.

Trent speeds through the city as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

I, however, can’t get over where we were.

I’m still in shock over it.

A part of me didn’t believe he was serious that I would be volunteering, but the shocking part is that he was with me the whole time.

Not necessarily in the same room, but he was helping there, too, not just on his phone. And I don’t believe for a second it’s for the good PR. There were no cameras. No fanfare. Just a man doing a good deed for people he obviously cares about.