“Yeah, why?”
Frank stares back toward the road. “Nothing…I thought he gave it up. Disappeared.”
I don’t buy his dismissive tone. I give him a little more information just to see his reaction. “He did, well, not the disappearing part. He has a butcher’s shop in the Vale.” Frank’s eyes widen then narrow as he flicks an assessing look my way.
“How do you know him?” I ask Frank outright.
“I don’t, but like most people, I know of him. Last I heard, he had betrayed some big names. Stepped down as enforcer and took off with a woman that wasn’t his to take.”
“That’s about right,” I agree, ignoring the cold way Frank delivers the last part. I’d heard this condensed version of Koko’s past only recently from Charlie.
Frank sucks in a breath. “He’s still…is he still with her?”
“Charlie? Yeah. She runs the bakery. Koko handles the butchers,” I tell him.
Dax snorts. “God knows how they got the FSA and Enviro teams to agree on that.”
“Two separate kitchens, is how,” I bite back, probably a little too defensive of my friends. “The two sides don’t meet, not even at the front. It’s like two separate shops, but they removed the wall between them. No different from stalls side by side at a market.
“Charlie…” Frank whispers. Then clears his throat and shoots me a look in the rear-view. “They’re family, huh? A knife-wielding murderer and a bread maker?” His derision rankles.
“They are. So, fucking mind your manners when you speak about them.”
There’s a flicker of a smile on Frank’s face, but it vanishes as soon as it appears.
I stare out the window as we cross the bridge into the city district. The traffic is busy but flowing like lifeblood into the heart of Harrison. Behind us, I can just make out the Ferris wheel as it turns lazily. Across from that stand the two sentinels of the Vale. Olive Tower on the left and Ivy to the right. The colossal concrete giants shrink to nothing with each mile we travel closer to the Heights. They fade into insignificance as asphalt and brick transform into hedgerows and woodland.
“We’re almost there,” Frank warns, dropping the entire issue like we’ve been riding in silence this entire time.
Dax clears his throat. “Aiden, you have a team waiting for a debrief. Jules, you’re with me. We’ll head in through the business entrance today. I have a few things to sort out with you before we go back to the apartment,” he instructs.
“Sure,” I agree.
“Got it.” Aiden nods.
Frank pulls up, and we all move at once. Doors open and close in a cacophony of clanks and clunks, then Frank pulls away toward the garage.
Aiden grabs my hand, pulling me in for a sweet foreheadkiss and a gently whispered; “I’ll see you later, Tiger.” He turns in the direction of the main apartment and waves over his shoulder. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”
I’m not sure if he’s directing that at Dax or me, but we both nod.
“Ready?” Dax asks. I don’t think I’ve been ready for anything the last few weeks has thrown at me, but I guess I appreciate him asking. I errantly wonder what he’ll do if I say no and then shake it off and agree instead.
“Yeah. Let’s get this day moving.”
*
Despite the traditional Victorian exterior of the manor, the offices of Trevainne are wholly modern in structure. Glass walls define the spaces inside, creating a modern footprint within the traditional one. I notice that all the new walls are impermanent and can be stripped out if they ever want to restore the old building. It’s cleverly done and not only redefines the purpose of this wing of the building, but it also highlights traditional features using hidden lighting. I like it. It reminds me of the Harrison Museum. A neoclassical building with an octagonal glass-domed ceiling covering the former courtyard. A prime example of classical and modernist architectural mashups.
“This first floor is mostly administrative,” Dax informs me as we walk. “We have a small reception, call centre and all the usual filing, photocopying, client lounges, meeting rooms, and so on. Upstairs, we have the estate management team, law team, the charity division, events, and socials team, and above them are the executives.”
“But your office is on the second floor. Why aren’t you up with the executives?”
“Well noticed. I forgot how quick you are.”
“Doesn’t answer my question.”
“I might run the place, but my role…hmm…how do I explain? The most accurate explanation is that I’m a temporary feature. A placeholder.”
