Dark Debt (Chicagoland Vampires 11)

Reed sent his guests home, and Jacobs and two uniformed officers accompanied the vampires to the station. My father, grandfather, Ethan, and I stayed in Reed’s office, waiting for him to return.

My father stood across the room beside the globe, occasionally spinning it to watch its rotation. I sat beside my grandfather on a tufted leather couch of stiff burgundy leather, the type that had probably looked much more comfortable in the catalogue. Ethan stood beside me on his phone, updating the House.

Tensions, obviously, were high.

“It can’t be a coincidence the attack was here,” Ethan said to my grandfather, putting away his phone and breaking the silence. “I’m sure there would have been easier places to get to King, take him out.”

“Undoubtedly,” Chuck said. “We’ll see what Reed has to say, supplement with our own background.”

“You’ll find nothing,” my father said, putting a hand on the globe to stop its motion. “Reed holds himself to the highest ethical standards. That’s why he refused King’s business offer earlier this evening.”

My grandfather didn’t miss the implication. “He and King had words before the attack?”

My father rolled his eyes. “King made overtures, and Reed rejected them. He’s a thug, and everyone knows he threatened the jury that acquitted him.”

My grandfather just looked at him. “Our job is to consider all angles, tie off all loose ends, before reaching a firm conclusion. That’s the nature of an investigation.”

“You’ve talked to Morgan?” I asked, and my grandfather nodded.

“Catcher called him. I understand he was less surprised than he should have been.”

You could practically hear Ethan’s hackles rise. He wasn’t a fan of Morgan or his leadership style, such as it was. Frankly, he was probably looking forward to berating him for his Novitiates’ raging stupidity.

The door opened and Reed walked back in, Sorcha behind him. Without a word, she walked to Reed’s desk, picked up a lighter and a cigarette case, disappeared onto the terrace again.

Reed walked to a bar of cut crystal decanters, poured a finger of Scotch, downed it. “They’ve been arrested?” he asked, without turning around.

“They’re in custody,” my grandfather explained. “They’ll be booked and questioned, and the responding officers will consult with the prosecutor regarding the charges against them.”

He took a small, spiral notebook from his shirt pocket, pulled an old-fashioned red and white ballpoint pen from the spiral, clicked the nib into place.

“Are you aware of anyone who would want to harm your reputation?” my grandfather asked, pen poised over paper.

Reed walked past us to his desk, took a seat in the leather chair behind it, rocked with an audible creak. “I’m a very wealthy man, Mr. Merit. Wealth attracts attention, and men who shape their own worlds are not infrequently the targets of crime.”

“Any specific, credible threats against you lately?”

“Not that I’m aware of. If there’d been something credible, my staff would have told me.”

My grandfather nodded. “What about Sanford King? Can you describe your relationship with him?”

“Perfunctory,” Reed said, turning the chair to face the room and steepling his fingers over his chest. “We’re acquainted, and that’s nearly overstating it. He’s a member of the charity’s board of directors. His invitation was pro forma.”

“So no business dealings?”

“None.”

“I understand he presented you with a business opportunity earlier tonight.”

Reed’s expression flattened. “I don’t hold with gossip. And I declined the offer. As I said, no business dealings.”

“Thank you for clarifying,” my grandfather summed, making a note in his book. “Sanford King likely has enemies.”

“As I indicated, we all have enemies.”

“And would there have been any reason for the perpetrators to believe you and Sanford had a closer relationship?”

“What are you asking?”