Chapter 7 - The Currency of Loyalty
Arthur stood in the rain, his black tuxedo immaculate beneath an expensive woolen trench coat. He didn't search wildly; he simply stood beneath his umbrella, watching the steam rise from the asphalt, knowing their options were limited to this single alley.
"Victoria!" his voice carried over the sound of falling water, calm, reasoned, entirely devoid of malice. "Come out. You’re making an embarrassing scene out of a private transaction."
Behind the pallets, Victoria leaned against the wet timber, her breath shallow. She looked down at the revolver. Three rounds. Arthur was wearing body armor under that tailored coat; she knew because she had signed the vouchers for it herself.
"You took twelve million to make them disappear, Arthur," Victoria said, raising her voice just enough to carry through the rain without giving away her exact position. "Julian couldn't possibly match what I paid you."
Arthur sighed, a sound of mild professional exhaustion. "Julian didn't have to match it, Victoria. Your husband did."
Victoria’s world went entirely still. The sound of the rain seemed to drop to an imperceptible whisper.
"Richard?" she whispered.
"The Senator cannot afford a living scandal entering an election cycle," Arthur said smoothly, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the pallets. "A dead mistress twelve years ago was manageable. An illegitimate child arriving at the annual gala with the family signet is political suicide. Richard authorized Julian to clean the board three weeks ago."
Arthur stopped five paces away, aiming his weapon directly at the center of the wooden slats where Victoria was crouched.
"Hand over the child, Victoria. Richard is willing to let you fly to Geneva tonight. No questions asked. A generous divorce settlement, full custody of the European assets. All you have to do is walk away, just like you did the day she was born."
Clara looked up at Victoria. There was no fear in the girl's face, only a profound, devastating certainty that she was about to be abandoned for a second time.
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Victoria looked down at her daughter. Then she looked down at the gun in her hand.
She didn't aim for Arthur's chest. She aimed through the gap in the pallets, directly at the exposed valve of the industrial propane tank bolted to the warehouse wall behind him.
