Page 4 of The Knight (Endgame 2)
My heart squeezes. “Of course, but I—I can’t—”
The understanding in his eyes twists the knife. “You don’t need to worry about that, Ms. St. James.”
“But I—well, yes I do. You see, right now—”
“Mr. Miller has taken care of the matter.”
I know that Gabriel is paying for my father’s care here, but what if he stops? I don’t have access to the money from the auction yet, still in trust before the thirty days end. My father could be out on the street. In his condition it would be a death sentence.
Mr. Stewart steps closer, putting his hand on mine where it rests on the arm of the chair. “Please, let me put your mind at ease. Mr. Miller has made a generous donation to our foundation. The only stipulation is that your father will have our support for as long as he needs it. So, you see, there’s no reason for you to worry about that. Only focus on your father’s health.”
I stare at him, uncomprehending. The cost of living here is astronomical. I checked out every home in the city when my father was attacked, when he became bedridden. At the time I couldn’t afford even the shoddiest bed, much less a place like this. And Gabriel Miller had paid even more than that, so much that my father was secure here for the rest of his life.
Mr. Stewart gives me a quizzical smile. “You look almost more worried, dear.”
Words expand in my throat, too thick to be spoken. Confusion. Gratitude. Dread. I despise that last one, but I can’t help wondering what will be required in return.
“Mr. Miller isn’t family,” I manage.
He isn’t even a friend. No, he’s an enemy. The man who broke my father, who turned information over to the prosecutor in retaliation for stealing from him. The man who purchased my virginity in a calloused transaction. Why would he help us? He wouldn’t. Which means he’s only biding his time. Keeping my father alive so that he can hurt him again. Keeping me close so that he can ruin me again.
“I see,” Mr. Stewart says, and I can tell that he does. Someone who’s around this much family money must see some cruel things, even when they’re disguised as kindness. He nods toward the book in my hands. “I heard you just now, reading to your father. That’s lovely.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think he can hear me.”
“Perhaps not, but kindness isn’t only for the recipient. Sometimes it’s for the giver.”
“Are you saying that Gabriel Miller needed to do something kind? Why? Because he caused my father’s downfall?”
A small smile. “Perhaps. But I was more interested in the subject matter. You wield more power than you think, Ms. St. James.”Chapter FourIn Greek mythology Helen of Troy was the most beautiful woman in the world. There are countless depictions of her in medieval and Renaissance art, each according to the artist’s own interpretation of beauty. Maybe every little girl thinks her mother is the most beautiful, but I have no problem imagining my mother in a flowing gown, looking out over a glittering green sea.
That’s my Helen St. James, a woman with multiple men vying for her hand in marriage. A woman who married a king. A woman completely unlike me.
So far I’ve dropped out of college, lost the family home, and sold my virginity. Not exactly anything I want told in myths years from now.
And whatever else Gabriel Miller might be, he’s not royalty.
Even so I can’t deny the grandeur of the glinting building slicing through the sun. In the lobby of Miller Industries, chandeliers made of a thousand shards shine light on a carved statue of Atlas. The earth is made of some kind of metal, its curved surface corrosive and yet somehow beautiful.
“Mr. Miller is not available,” the receptionist says, eyes a pretty blank blue behind steel-rimmed spectacles.
“I know,” I say, apologetic. “And I know this is unusual. But he knows who I am, I swear. We have a…personal connection. If you could just call up to him—”
She flicks a few keystrokes on her keyboard, managing to do her job while being a brick wall. “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. Mr. Miller is—”
“Not available,” I finish, because she’s said it a half-dozen times already.
She’s determined to send me away, and I’m just as determined to stay. Whether or not Gabriel Miller intended to be kind with the donation to the nursing home, he still owns my family home. I have a slip of paper from the city proving that much.
“You can speak with the business manager assigned to your house.”
Part of me knew that Gabriel might refuse to see me, but as far as I can tell, he doesn’t even know I’m here. Frustration churns in my stomach, acidic and hot. He did this on purpose, sending me away just as I found out he’d taken my family’s house, making sure I’d have nowhere left to turn.
