Page 4 of Angels of the Night
CHAPTER 4
“Welcome, my dear Professor Winters. Please, feel at home. This humble apartment is only a temporary living solution. Sorry for not being able to offer you a fancier place at the moment, but I promise to take care of it in the shortest possible time.” Greenwood gestured largely around the luxurious living-room, examining Phillip from the corner of his eye.
“Oh, please, my dear Sir. I'm a mere mortal, just like you, not some god who needs an imposing temple or something like that. And, in all honesty, after spending almost two years locked in a ten-square-feet prison cell, even a shed is like a palace to me.” Phillip looked around the room, visibly satisfied with what he saw.
“Allow me to disagree with you, Professor. You see, for me, you are a brilliant scientist with a god-like power. I'm one of your most ardent admirers, and it pained me to see how your name and work were unjustly slandered. I've been looking for a way to get you out of that horrible place for quite some time, and I was overjoyed when I finally found it.” Greenwood's voice was smooth, his words honey-coated and convincing, or so he hoped.
“I didn't have the privilege of meeting you before, but I am very happy that we have found each other now. I am a very grateful man. I never forget the ones who help me, which brings us to the most important part of this conversation: what exactly do you want from me, Mister Greenwood?” Winters studied his conversation partner, waiting for him to reply.
“Nothing more or less than what your father and the late Alexander Kane had: a mutually profitable collaboration based on respect and trust. Your genius and my resources will be the perfect combination, don't you think?” By then, Greenwood was sure the guest would accept his proposal.
“It sounds perfect to me, but first I would like to know what resources you are talking about. I am sorry for sounding this distrustful, but your name is new to me, so...”
“No one understands you better than I do, Professor Winters. Although my name is respected and feared in England, here I am known only as the guy who runs the late Alexander Kane's company.”
“That's very impressive, to say the least. How did you manage to overthrow Fabian Bloom, if you don't mind me asking? He is not the type to give up power that easily, especially when said power was passed to him by a member of his own family.” Curiosity, surprise and a tinge of admiration mixed in Phillip's voice.
“Actually, it was Bloom himself who put me in charge. What can I say? One has to think about retirement, at some point. I guess he got too old for this job.” Greenwood shrugged, his voice laced with poisonous irony.
“I would pay attention to that man, if I were you. He's probably up to something. Fabian Bloom doesn't give up power just like that. He fights to the bitter end. In this case, either tries to control you, or plans to abandon the ship and get rid of all his former associates, you included.” Phillip's voice had a warning edge Greenwood decided not to ignore.
“Thank you for opening my eyes, Professor. I already eliminated almost all those who were opposing the way I want to run the organization, so if Bloom tries something, he's dead meat. Please, don't worry about petty things, just focus on your work. I'll take care of everything else.”
****
Finally, Fabian could allow himself to relax a bit, after all the agitation the news coming from England caused him a couple of weeks before. Had it not been for his special guest's request, the man would have killed that Greenwood bastard with his bare hands. Thankfully, he listened to the voice of the reason telling him the lowlife had to be left alive for the time being.
Other than that, Fabian had a good life. He had given up hope that Winter would accept his marriage proposal one day and was totally at peace with it. Riley called him once or twice a week, and they talked for hours on end. In fact, the boy did the talking; he mainly listened to him bragging about his progresses in the academic field.
To his great surprise, Fabian discovered that he missed the boy a lot, and, as soon as the call ended, he couldn't wait for the next. The man was grateful to the boy's adoptive fathers for loving him like they did and was aware that avoiding New York was the best for Riley, but a tiny part of him wished the kid had stayed.
Fabian's thoughts took another, less pleasant direction, when he remembered the rumors about Phillip getting out of prison as a result of a plea bargain between his lawyer and district attorney Ian Saint-Clair. Whoever helped the twisted-minded psycho seemed to know an awful lot about those behind the child trafficking ring because many of them were arrested the very same day Winters walked out of jail.
Making a mental note to ask Lance to take a look into that shabby matter, Fabian headed to the kitchen, where his chauffeur was busy preparing the lunch for the two of them. The delicious aroma of homecooked food tickled the man's nostrils, bringing a smile to his full lips. He just started setting the table, when the sound of the doorbell put an abrupt stop to the activity.
“I'll get it.” Fabian gestured to Lance, who abandoned the stove, intending to head to the entryway. “You know I can't cook, even if my life depended on it.”
“Guess what, your life does depend on food. You would be dead in two days without me to cook for you,” the chauffeur muttered under his breath.
“Hello, is this the Bloom residence?” The blond boy standing in the doorway, with his long hair and ocean-blue eyes looked fragile and a little disoriented. “I am looking for Mister Fabian Bloom. I was told he lives here. My name is Rowan Winters, Conroy Winters's son, and I need your help.” With a soft sigh, the boy put down the small suitcase he was carrying.
“Yes, I'm the one you are looking for. Please come inside. It's lunch time now, we'll talk after that.” The man studied the kid's shirt and ripped jeans with a critical eye. “I guess there is no time left for you to change into better clothes, but you'll have to take care of it right after lunch.”
“Very well, Sir.” Rowan dipped his head, a serious expression on his face, but his voice had a tinge of irony that didn't pass unnoticed. “I'm very obedient, you know, the totally submissive type.”
“Hey, Boss, what are you doing there? The food is getting cold. I thought you said you were hungry.” Lance’s voice coming from the kitchen made Fabian sigh in relief as he didn't know what to reply to the boy's words.
“In a moment,” he said, then turned to Rowan. “The kitchen is this way. Better hurry up if we want to stay on the cook's good side. He's a little grumpy today.”
“That one is grumpy all the time, I bet all my earthly possessions on it, but I'm hungry, so no negative comments in his presence.” The boy winked, flashing an irresistibly cute grin that warmed Fabian's heart.
“Table for three, we have a guest for lunch.” The master of the house gently shoved the teen inside the kitchen. “Lance, this is Rowan, and I think he is going to stay here for a while. Rowan, this man is Lance Hansen, my chauffeur, cook, personal assistant and everything in between. He is literally indispensable; I need him like air.”
“Stop sweet-talking me, Boss. It won't get you anywhere. As for the kiddo here, he could be the Prince of Wales in disguise, I don't care. I only cooked for two today.” The chauffeur's growl made the kid lower his head, his eyes saddened.
“Good, then I'll eat less. You said the food is getting cold, the table is set, so I suggest we start. Rowan, sit down, please.” As Fabian spoke, a distant memory emerged from the corner of his mind where he buried it decades ago.
His brother Benjamin had always been hungry, always asking for seconds, and their uncle Alastair inevitably passed his food to the child, claiming he was not hungry. Unlike the detested Duke of Sandrigham, their uncle's husband, who always spewed poisonous words in the children's direction, Lance was only joking.