Page 9 of Merciless Heir
I start laughing. For a yes she’ll work with me, stealing my Breguet is up there in the fuck you department.
Closing my eyes, I settle back and wait for the car to take me home to Park Avenue.
I’m looking forward to round two.
“How’s your new mansion in the sky, Kingston?”
Jenson’s question is polite and not a hint of snark, but I give him the once over as I sit in his understated office.
“I live on the fifteenth floor of my newest acquisition. And it’s beautiful. I’m almost positive you didn’t summon me here to troll or to talk real estate.”
I do dabble in different arenas; my company is powerful enough to fund projects, raze buildings, and do what I see fit to build money and power. But one of my sweet spots is old Manhattan buildings that I return to former glory with modern touches. Some I keep for high end, furnished rentals as there are a lot of people who want the ease of that as they flit coasts and continents; others I sell the apartments.
This building is beautiful and I got this, through some perhaps underhanded deals here and there, primarily for my use with the top floor and its roof garden. The irony of me living in what would have been servant quarters and now prime real estate is not lost on me. It’s all leased out on the floors below, because money is money and I don’t need an actual mansion of floors upon floors—mine takes up the whole of the building which spans half the block.
But as I said, I’m not here to discuss that.
I know why I’m here.
Jenson clears his throat and goes a little red, but before he can speak there’s a knock on his office door and my mother comes in, somehow bringing freshness to the dark day outside with its cold and biting wind.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, blowing an air kiss my way.
I narrow my eyes.
“Time is money. Specifically my money, Mother.”
“Kingston.” A warning is buried in her voice, but I ignore it.
She’s up to something, I know that.
The woman’s prints are all over whatever this lesson she’s hell-bent on handing out to her sons is, and now she has me in her sights.
Thing is, I’m just interested in the money, the worth of the jewel. Which is why I never said a word when Ryder told me about her message about it going missing.
One month today until my birthday. Seems I was right in my guess of where this might be headed. No quest written by my father before his death. But a quest is coming. With stipulations.
If she’s got the fucking tiara and is pretending it’s missing so I can jump through her hoops, we’re going to be having a talk when this is all done. But until then, until I know more, I’m biding my time.
“It’s a month early, but I’m pretty sure I know why I’m here.”
Jenson makes himself busy by taking a seat behind his desk and going through a file that’s on his desk, next to his computer.
“And why is that, darling?” Faye Sinclair is one of those timeless women who looks good no matter their age, and hers is well preserved.
I’ve no idea if she’s had work beyond a filler or Botox or whatever the latest technique is these days, but if she has, it’s a master class in subtlety.
“Why?” I sigh loudly, deliberately. “Because you’re here and it’s happy birthday dear Kingston in one month, that’s why. I’m not in the habit of being called to see Father’s attorney.”
My mother seats herself in the chair next to me, crosses her ankles, and leans on the arm. Her eyes sparkle. “We’ll cut to the chase.”
Jenson clears his throat. “It seems, Kingston, your quest is missing.”
“Along with the tiara.” My mother sits back and shakes her head, but her gaze is on me.
If she wants to play games, then I’ll play my own. I know my brothers and she’ll know the message was passed on, but she won’t know if I’ve done anything, so I just stay quiet. And wait.
“You’re going to need to find it.”