Chapter 2 - THE PRICE OF A NAME
At twelve forty-five, the ballroom was still full. The orchestra played slow jazz while men in tailored suits traded promises beneath chandeliers. Declan should have been at the center of it all. Instead, he sat in his private office with Clary’s employment file open in front of him.
Her official wage was modest but fair. Her actual payments were not. There were unexplained deductions for uniforms, meals, damaged equipment, and “advance recovery.” Each had been entered in neat columns and approved through an internal account connected to Arthur’s office.
Declan’s jaw tightened.
“Find Tommy Davies,” he told Marco Bell, his security chief. “Alive, and without frightening him into running.”
Marco nodded. “I’ll start with the address in the staff file.”
“Take a medic.”
“Expect trouble?”
“I expect my people have already made enough.”
Marco left. Declan turned to Clary, who sat stiffly across his desk. Someone had brought her tea and a clean cardigan, but she hadn’t touched either.
“You can go home,” he said.
“And wake up to men waiting outside?”
“No one will approach you without my authorization.”
“Your authorization is the reason they came in the first place.”
The honesty stung because she had reason to believe it.
Declan leaned back. “You’re right. My name made the threat more frightening. That doesn’t mean I ordered it.”
“I don’t know what you order, sir. I only know what happens to people who disobey.”
He had heard men speak with less courage while holding loaded weapons.
“Did you ever see the men who collected the money?”
“Two of them. One had a scar under his left ear. The other wore a gold ring shaped like a snake.”
“Did they come here?”
“Once. They waited near the laundry entrance. Arthur spoke to them in the corridor.”
“Did you hear what he said?”
Clary shook her head. “Only that he would make sure I understood the consequences.”
Declan wrote it down. “Why did you keep working here after they threatened you?”
“Because my brother is all I have. Our mother died when Tommy was sixteen. I worked nights so he could finish school. He made mistakes, but he’s still my family.”
“And you’ve been paying for his mistake.”
“I’m his sister.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“It’s the only answer I have.”
Declan understood loyalty, though he had often confused it with obedience. Clary’s loyalty had no threat behind it. She was frightened, angry, exhausted—and still worried about her brother.
A knock sounded. Marco returned with a photograph from a security camera. It showed Arthur entering the underground garage three nights earlier with two men. One wore a gold ring shaped like a snake.
Declan stared at the image. Arthur had managed the books, handled negotiations, and stood beside him when rival families tested the boundaries of his empire. Declan had trusted him with the private details of his life.
Trust, he was beginning to understand, could become a blindfold.
“Bring Arthur to the office,” he said.
“He’s hosting the guests.”
“Then he can excuse himself.”
When Marco left, Clary remained standing.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
“Yes.”
“Why are you helping me?”
The question was simple. He had no simple answer.
“Because you work in my home, and someone used my name to hurt you.”
“That’s not the same as caring.”
“No,” Declan admitted. “It isn’t.”
She seemed surprised he had admitted it.
He looked at the employment file again. “I can’t promise you I’m a good man, Clary. I can promise I’ll investigate what happened and won’t punish you for telling the truth.”
She studied him for a long moment.
“Then please don’t make me regret it.”
Before he could answer, Arthur entered without waiting for permission. He looked immaculate, his black tie perfectly straight and his expression mildly irritated.
“You wanted to see me?”
Declan closed the file. “Yes. Sit down, Arthur.”
Arthur glanced at Clary. A flicker of contempt crossed his face before he masked it.
“Is this about the maid?”
“It’s about money taken from her wages, a debt that keeps growing, and two men who claim to be collecting on my behalf.”
Arthur’s smile did not move. “You have five hundred guests upstairs. Is this really the time?”
May you like
Declan folded his hands on the desk.
“You’re right,” he said. “It’s not the time for excuses.”
