As we’re packing up the planning materials, my phone buzzes with a text from a number I recognize—Richard’s personal cell, the one he reserves for his most trusted attorneys. The message is simple:
Richard
Impressive work on the legal clinics. Your father would be proud. We should catch up soon. - RK
My blood turns to ice water. The mention of my father is a calculated move—Richard knows how to push that particular button, how to make me remember the man who worked himself to death trying to live up to Richard's standards.
“What is it?” Maddy asks, noticing my expression.
I show her the text. "He's watching." I slip the phone back into my pocket. "We should assume he's monitoring everything: the festival, the clinics, our communications."
"Let him," Maddy says fiercely. "Let him watch us help people, build a future that matters, prove that his way isn't the way that wins. Maybe he'll learn."
Her optimism is breathtaking and terrifying in equal measure. She doesn't understand that Richard doesn't learn, he adapts, he conquers, he finds ways to turn your strengths into his weapons. She still believes in the fundamental goodness of people, still thinks that showing someone a better path will inspire them to take it.
It's one of the things I love most about her and one of the things that terrifies me most about the world she's chosen to trust.
As we're loading the last of the planning materials into her car, I catch sight of a detail that makes my heart stop—a shiny black sedan driving past the community center, its windows tinted dark enough to hide the occupants but not dark enough to disguise the predatory grace of its movement.
The car doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down significantly, but I know that model, that deliberate pace. Richard always drove like he had all the time in the world, like everything would wait for his convenience. I've sat in passenger seats of cars like that one, listening to him dissect opposing counsel's weaknesses or plan our next acquisition strategy.
Now he's here, in River Bend, circling the life I've built, a predator staking his claim.
Seeing him slices through the calm I've built, a reminder that no matter how far I've come or how much I've changed, the past still has teeth, and it knows where to find me.
"Mason?" Maddy's voice cuts through my dark thoughts. "You, okay?"
I force myself to smile, to push down the complex tangle of fear and old professional habits that are trying to crawl up my throat. "I'm fine. Thinking about contingencies."
"More contingencies? I thought we covered everything."
"We did," I lie smoothly. "Lawyer paranoia. Occupational hazard."
But as I watch her drive away, heading home to prep for tomorrow's vendor meetings, I know I'm not fine. Richard is here, which means the real game is about to begin. And for the first time since this all started, I'm not sure our preparation will be enough.
Because Richard Kingston doesn't play to win, he plays to control. And he knows how I think, because he's the one who taught me.
My phone buzzes again. Another text from Richard:
Richard
There’s excellent whiskey at The Cork & Crown. Join me for a drink. We have much to discuss.
Not a request. Never a request with Richard.
An invitation that lands with all the weight of a summons.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
MASON
The Cork & Crown sits at the end of Main Street, its windows glowing against the dusk. Through the glass, I can see the soft glow of amber lighting and the familiar silhouettes of River Bend's evening crowd—commuters nursing beers after long days, retirees playing cards at corner tables, couples sharing conversations over wine.
And somewhere in that peaceful tableau sits Richard Kingston, a predator who's wandered into someone else's territory.
I pause outside the door, catching my reflection in the glass. Yesterday's suit, wrinkled from sleeping in the loft. Hair that hasn't seen a comb since this morning's family invasion. A shadow of stubble that screams “unprofessional” in corporate speak. Richard will notice every detail, catalog every imperfection, use them as ammunition for whatever game he's playing.
Good. Let him think I've gone soft, lost my edge. It might be the one advantage I have.
