Page 31 of Old Money, Deadly Secrets

“Barkley,” she repeated softly, tasting the name. It felt warm, solid, like him. Then her voice fell to a tender murmur, barely more than a whisper. Emery.

He looked up, his eyes catching hers, and for a moment he paused as if turning the name over carefully in his mind. A slow smile spread across his lips, warm and genuine.

“That I like,” he said thoughtfully. “It sounds special. Something only for you to use.”

Her cheeks flushed deeper, and she smiled back, feeling a connection that went beyond words.

He reached out, his fingers brushing gently against hers before leaning in to place a soft kiss on her knuckles. “Dog is the callsign, but Emery is just yours.”

He smiled softly and cleared his throat, chuckling quietly. “You were asking about me, weren’t you?”

Dog’s gaze drifted to the distant tree line, a hint of melancholy in his eyes, but also a profound affection. “My mom passed away when I was six. Will was four. She had a rare genetic defect that caused rapid cirrhosis of the liver. It was fast, and brutal. After that, it was just Dad, Will, and me for a long time.”

Margaret listened intently, picturing the small, shattered family. She, an only child, had always been surrounded by nannies, tutors, and the cold opulence of her parents’ home. A quiet sense of yearning for that closeness she’d never experienced welled within her.

“Then Dad died,” Dog continued, his voice softer now. “Massive heart attack, right at his desk at work. I was on a mission in Venezuela at the time. Will was twenty-two, in his last year of college. Just like that, it was just the two of us.” He swallowed, his eyes distant for a moment.

“Will, he always wanted to be like Dad,” Dog went on with a nostalgic smile returning. “A financial wizard, running the family business. When Dad passed, Will took over the massive conglomeration of businesses called Berkshire Enterprises and he has expanded them tenfold. He loved the numbers, the challenge.” He shook his head slightly and gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Me, I never cared for any of that. The money, the status. I just wanted my life to mean something. To count for something beyond the balance sheet.”

He nodded slowly, eyes distant for a moment. “Dad understood that. He never pushed me towards the family business. He just wanted me to be happy, to find my own purpose. He helped me find it, actually.”

“He helped you find the military?” Margaret asked, curious.

Dog nodded. “Straight out of high school. I enlisted in the Navy first. I did all my college studies online from Harvard, mostly while deployed or during down cycles. After Special Forces training, I kept taking every medic course the Navy offered. I’m not a certified medical doctor, but I’ve had more field medicine training than most GPs.” He paused and a slight smile touched his lips. “And just before the mission in Syria, I even managed to finish my PhD in biochemistry. So, yeah. It has been quite a journey.”

He spoke without a trace of bravado, simply stating facts about a life lived with fierce intention. Charles would have inflated every accomplishment, glossed over any perceived weakness, and certainly never admitted to not caring about money. Emery, instead, had laid out his motivations bare, his values clear.

Margaret leaned forward slightly. “Your dad sounds like an amazing man. And your brother too, building an empire like that. But you’re extraordinary, Emery.” The words slipped out before she could catch them, a genuine admiration shining in her eyes.

“They both are,” Dog confirmed, a deep warmth in his eyes. “Dad taught me that real wealth isn’t in what you own, but in what you do, and who you do it for. Will’s doing it for the family legacy, for our dad. We just found different ways to honor him.”

He looked back at her, his expression serious but kind. “So now you know. The good, the bad, and the very average Barkley Berkshire.” He offered a soft, reassuring smile. “Your turn.”

Margaret felt a familiar knot of apprehension. How could she articulate the emptiness of her gilded cage? The meticulously curated perfection that had been her life, devoid of real meaning?

“My turn,” she echoed, looking out at the swaying grass of the meadow. “Well, I was an only child. Raised to be,” she shrugs, “decorative, I suppose. To host dinner parties, select the right charities, and eventually, marry well. To be a trophy.” She paused, picking at a loose thread on her sweater. “It sounds shallow, because it was. And I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Dog didn’t press. He just waited, his presence a calm, steady force. That patient, unwavering gaze was enough. She took a deep breath. “But I will tell you this, Emery. I think I’m finally ready to stop being decorative. I think I’m ready to find out what I’m actually good for.”

Dog’s steady gaze softened, a quiet respect in his eyes. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, silently affirming his belief in her.

Margaret stood, stretching her aching limbs as she glanced around the meadow one last time. The golden light filtered through the trees, casting long, gentle shadows across the wildflowers.

As they began gathering their things, the empty wrappers, the scattered napkins, Dog paused and glanced toward the edge of the meadow. A faint flush touched his cheeks. “Give me a second,” he said quietly, a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll be right behind that tree.”

Margaret nodded, watching as he slipped quietly out of sight, carefully choosing a spot shielded by thick underbrush. The moment felt strangely ordinary, a small respite amidst their relentless flight.

Then a harsh, metallic clank ripped through the quiet. It was immediately followed by a furious barrage of curse words, sharp, raw, and heavy with pain. The intensity of his voice made Margaret’s breath catch in her throat.

Her heart pounded as her mind raced. Did someone find us? Have they been caught?

“Dog? Emery?” she called out softly, fear prickling along her skin. But the only answer was the fading echoes of his angry curses carried off by the wind.

For a moment, she stood frozen. The peaceful meadow suddenly felt far less safe.

21 - DOG

As Dog stepped around the tree, his boot landed on something hard and unyielding, and then it snapped. Not a stick. A metallic shriek ripped through the quiet, followed by searing, impossible pain that rooted itself instantly in his calf. The trap’s iron jaws twisted with savage force, driving rusty teeth deep as his body weight pressed down, wrenching his entire lower leg.