Chapter 6 - THE TRAITOR AT THE FAMILY TABLEArthur Cross was Vincent’s father’s younger brother.
He had taught Vincent to shoot at fourteen.
Taught him to drive at sixteen.
Held him upright at his mother’s funeral.
And apparently spent the past five years selling pieces of the Cross organization to federal informants, rival crews, and corrupt officials.
Marcus dropped the evidence on Vincent’s desk.
“No mistake?”
“None.”
Vincent stared at the wire transfers.
Arthur had funded Donovan.
Not directly.
Through shell companies.
Enough distance to maintain deniability.
Enough money to build a rebellion.
“Why?”
Marcus leaned against the desk.
“You inherited.”
Vincent understood.
Arthur had expected Vincent’s father’s empire.
Instead it had gone to a thirty-year-old son who preferred spreadsheets to theater.
Arthur had smiled at the decision.
Now Vincent knew why.
He had been waiting.
Fay returned to work three days later.
Everyone stared.
The story had spread despite every attempt at secrecy.
Not the kidnapping details.
Just enough.
Donovan attacked a maid.
Donovan betrayed the family.
Donovan vanished into federal custody.
And Vincent Cross personally protected the maid.
That final part caused trouble.
Some staff treated Fay like royalty.
She hated it.
Others avoided her.
She hated that more.
At lunch, she entered the staff dining room.
Conversation stopped.
Fay put down her tray.
“If everyone keeps doing that, I’m eating in the laundry room.”
Luis the chef coughed to hide a laugh.
Someone finally asked:
“Did Mr. Cross really take Donovan down because of you?”
Fay sighed.
“No.”
A dishwasher frowned.
“But—”
“Donovan took Donovan down because he was a violent idiot.”
Luis raised his coffee.
“To violent idiots creating their own unemployment.”
The room laughed.
Tension broke.
Fay smiled.
That was what she wanted.
Not protection through proximity to power.
Normalcy.
But normalcy had already left.
Because Vincent walked into the staff dining room.
Every fork stopped.
Fay groaned.
“See?”
Vincent looked around.
“Am I interrupting?”
“Yes,” Fay said.
Everyone stared at her.
Vincent’s mouth almost twitched.
“I need to speak with you.”
Fay crossed her arms.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
Luis muttered, “That seems unlikely now.”
Fay glared at him.
Vincent took her to the west library.
“I need your help.”
“With what?”
“My uncle.”
She blinked.
“That sounds above housekeeping pay grade.”
“It is.”
“So?”
“You notice things.”
Fay stared.
“That is the nicest possible description of spying.”
“I’m not asking you to spy.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking what you remember.”
He showed her Arthur’s photograph.
Fay had seen him dozens of times.
Elegant.
Warm smile.
Always tipped staff.
Never raised his voice.
“What about him?”
“Anything unusual.”
Fay thought.
“Blue cigarettes.”
Vincent frowned.
“What?”
“He smokes imported cigarettes. Blue paper.”
“How does that help?”
“Donovan smoked the same ones.”
Vincent went still.
Fay continued.
“I remember because ash stains are harder to remove from white marble when someone crushes them instead of using an ashtray.”
“Where?”
“East terrace.”
“When?”
“Multiple times.”
“Together?”
“Once that I saw.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Date?”
Fay laughed.
“I’m a maid, not surveillance software.”
He almost smiled.
Then she remembered.
“Actually…”
“What?”
“The hydrangeas.”
Vincent looked confused.
Fay thought back.
“The gardeners replaced the terrace hydrangeas after an early frost. Arthur and Donovan were there the afternoon before.”
Vincent pressed the intercom.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“Get landscaping invoices for the east terrace over the last year.”
Fay shook her head.
“This is ridiculous.”
“You may have just dated the meeting.”
She sat.
Vincent studied her.
“What?”
“You remember everything.”
“No.”
“Most things.”
“Only things I have to clean afterward.”
That sentence stayed with him.
Whole criminal empires were built on people assuming workers were invisible.
Fay had spent three years hearing what powerful men said because none of them believed she mattered enough to listen.
The landscaping invoice placed Arthur and Donovan together six months earlier.
Security footage confirmed it.
Arthur had entered a restricted office afterward.
Vincent now had enough proof.
The problem was what to do with it.
Old rules demanded blood.
Fay had already challenged those rules once.
Now Vincent found himself wondering whether keeping them was strength or laziness.
He summoned Arthur for dinner.
Private.
Family only.
Fay learned about it while arranging the dining room.
She found Vincent alone near the fireplace.
“You’re confronting him tonight.”
“Yes.”
“Is he armed?”
“Probably.”
“You sound calm.”
“I’m not.”
That surprised her.
Vincent looked toward his mother’s portrait above the mantel.
“He was her favorite brother-in-law.”
Fay joined him.
“That makes betrayal worse.”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
Vincent smiled faintly.
“You always ask dangerous questions.”
“You usually answer.”
He looked at her.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Then decide before he arrives.”
Vincent frowned.
“Why?”
“Because angry people make terrible decisions when they believe they’re improvising.”
He stared.
“Where did you learn that?”
Fay touched her jaw unconsciously.
Vincent understood.
Arthur arrived at eight.
He embraced Vincent.
“My boy.”
Vincent did not return the hug.
Arthur noticed.
They ate.
Soup.
Steak.
Wine.
Arthur told old family stories.
Vincent barely touched his food.
Finally, he placed the ledgers on the table.
Arthur looked down.
Then up.
No denial.
Interesting.
“How long have you known?”
“Three days.”
Arthur leaned back.
“And I’m still alive.”
“Yes.”
“Your father would be disappointed.”
“My father disappointed many people.”
Arthur laughed.
“There he is.”
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
Arthur continued.
“You think you can run this world with mercy.”
“No.”
“I hear you handed Donovan to law enforcement.”
“Yes.”
“Disgraceful.”
“No.”
Arthur’s smile vanished.
Vincent continued.
“What’s disgraceful is confusing brutality with discipline.”
Arthur stared.
Then glanced toward the doorway.
Fay stood there holding a coffee tray.
He smiled.
“Ah.”
Vincent immediately disliked the tone.
“The maid.”
Fay set down the tray.
Arthur studied her bruise, now faded yellow.
“You’re expensive.”
Vincent stood.
Fay remained still.
Arthur laughed.
“Relax. I’m complimenting her.”
“No, you’re testing me.”
Vincent stepped between them.
“The test is over.”
Arthur’s face changed.
“You would choose an employee over blood?”
Vincent’s voice lowered.
“She didn’t betray me.”
Silence.
Arthur’s pleasant mask cracked.
“I built this family with your father.”
“And then sold pieces of it when you didn’t inherit.”
“You were a child.”
“I was thirty.”
“You were sentimental.”
Vincent almost smiled.
“Apparently I’ve improved.”
Arthur’s hand moved beneath the table.
Fay saw it first.
A flash of metal.
“Vincent!”
Arthur drew a pistol.
Fay threw the coffee pot.
Hot liquid struck Arthur’s wrist.
The gun fired into the ceiling.
Marcus and security rushed in.
Arthur was pinned to the floor within seconds.
Fay stood frozen.
Vincent turned toward her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“You?”
“No.”
Arthur laughed from the floor.
“Look at you.”
Vincent looked down.
Arthur’s eyes were wild.
“All because of a maid.”
Vincent’s expression became cold.
“No.”
He glanced toward Fay.
“Because she saw what everyone else chose not to.”
Arthur spat blood onto the carpet.
Vincent did not flinch.
“Remove him.”
Marcus dragged Arthur away.
Fay looked at the stain.
Vincent followed her gaze.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“You are not cleaning that.”
Fay laughed shakily.
“It’s literally my job.”
“Not tonight.”
Then Vincent did something absurd.
He picked up a towel himself.
Fay stared.
“You’re serious?”
“I know how towels work.”
“That remains unproven.”
He knelt beside the coffee.
Fay started laughing.
Not because anything was funny.
Because adrenaline had nowhere else to go.
Vincent looked up.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You are very irritating.”
“So I’m told.”
She knelt too.
Their hands touched.
Neither pulled away immediately.
The room became strangely quiet.
Vincent looked at her.
Fay’s laughter faded.
Something new settled between them.
Not gratitude.
Not debt.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Vincent reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face.
He stopped before touching her cheek.
“May I?”
Fay looked into his eyes.
Then nodded.
His fingers barely touched her skin.
Gentler than she would have believed possible from him.
Neither kissed.
That made it more intimate.
Then Marcus reentered.
He stopped.
Looked at them.
Looked at the towel.
Looked at Vincent on the floor.
“I’m going to pretend none of this is happening.”
Vincent stood.
“Good.”
Marcus held out a phone.
“Problem.”
Vincent took it.
His expression changed.
Arthur had not been working alone.
The federal investigation triggered by Donovan’s arrest had accelerated.
Search warrants were being prepared.
Cross businesses.
Residences.
Accounts.
Everything.
Marcus spoke quietly.
“We have maybe forty-eight hours.”
Vincent looked around the house his family had ruled for generations.
Then at Fay.
For the first time, he understood something terrifying.
May you like
Saving the empire might require becoming exactly like his father.
But losing it might finally give him the chance to become someone else.
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