Chapter 3 - The Master of the House
The study was massive, smelling of old leather, cedarwood, and expensive bourbon. A towering wall of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves dominated the back wall, while a massive mahogany desk sat in the center of the room, illuminated by a green-shaded banker’s lamp.
Renick Kavanaugh stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the granite courtyard where, less than an hour ago, his only daughter had nearly met a fatal end.
He didn't turn around immediately. He took a slow sip from a heavy crystal tumbler, the amber liquid catching the dim light.
"Leave us," Renick said quietly.
Sully and the guards filed out, the heavy mahogany doors clicking shut behind them with a finality that made Belle’s skin crawl.
Silence stretched across the room like a taut wire. Finally, Renick turned. His dark hair was silvering at the temples, his jawline carved from granite, and his cold gray eyes—the exact same shade as little Brinley’s—fixed directly on Micah.
"Twenty-three feet," Renick said, his voice deep, gravelly, and unreadable. He walked slowly toward them, his leather shoes making no sound on the thick Persian rug. "A grown man would have frozen. A trained security detail was three seconds too late. But a seven-year-old boy with scraped knees caught her by the wrist and held her weight."
He stopped a few feet away, looking down at Micah.
Micah didn't shrink back. He tilted his chin up, meeting the most feared man in Boston eye-to-eye. "She wasn't holding on very tight," Micah said simply. "I just had to pull her up before her shoes slipped off the stone."
A flicker of something unreadable crossed Renick’s severe face. Was it amusement? Respect? Or the cold calculation of a predator evaluating an unknown variable?
"What's your name, son?" Renick asked, his voice softening by a fraction.
"Micah."
"And your mother is Eleanor Vance?" Renick looked past Micah, his gaze shifting to Belle, who stood frozen like a statue. "The woman who cleans the second-floor gallery every Tuesday and Thursday."
"Yes, Mr. Kavanaugh," Belle managed to say, her voice tight. "I’m sorry if we caused a disruption. We’ll gather our things from the staff quarters and leave tonight. You won't have to worry about us."
Renick raised a single hand, stopping her dead in her tracks.
"Leave?" Renick asked, a faint, dark smile touching the corner of his mouth. "You saved my daughter's life, Mrs. Vance. In my world, people who save what is mine don't get banished. They get debts paid."
May you like
He walked over to his mahogany desk, pulled open a heavy drawer, and slid a thick checkbook across the polished wood.
"Name your number," Renick said smoothly. "Ten thousand? Fifty thousand? A house in the suburbs, fully paid off, anywhere in Massachusetts? Consider it yours before midnight."
