“He’ll call the police,” Mabon interrupted. “If Sam finds gold coins on his doorstep from an unknown source, he’s not going to think ‘how romantic.’ He’s going to think, ‘which criminal organization is using my cottage for money laundering?’”
Damn, Urien hadn’t considered that.
“Okay, but…” Rux gestured sharply. “What if we leave a note? ‘These are gifts, not crime proceeds, please don’t call law enforcement’?”
“That’s exactly what someone committing a crime would write.”
“Then what do we write?”
“Nothing that references crime.”
“‘Dear Sam, this gold is legitimately sourced’?”
“Still sounds like crime.”
Urien stood, moving to the sideboard where a decanter of whiskey waited. He poured three glasses with hands that remained steady through sheer force of will. His dragon prowled restlessly beneath his skin, frustrated by the complexity of modern courtship.
“Property deeds,” Mabon said suddenly.
Urien and Rux both stared at him.
“You just finished explaining why mysterious gifts are suspicious,” Urien said slowly.
“No, I mean…” Mabon sat up straighter. “What if we give him something practical? I could transfer ownership of one of the cottages near the coast. That offers security and stability, which is valuable without being creepy.”
“You want to give him a house.”
“A cottage. A tiny cottage.”
“That we own.”
“That we’d transfer to his name, free and clear.”
Rux and Urien exchanged glances.
“Mabon,” Urien said carefully, “using your idea from earlier, imagine you’re a barista who lives in an inherited cottage. One day, you receive legal documents transferring ownership of a coastal property worth - what, half a million dollars?”
“Closer to seven hundred thousand, actually. It’s right on the cliff…”
“From complete strangers.”
Mabon’s enthusiasm dimmed. “Ah.”
“You’d panic,” Rux finished.
“I’d assume it was a scam,” Urien added. “Or a mistake, or both.”
“Or a very elaborate murder plot,” Rux said cheerfully. “‘Please come to this isolated coastal cottage we’ve given you, definitely not so we can harvest your organs.’”
Mabon slumped in his chair. “I hate that you’re right.”
Urien returned to his seat, whiskey in hand, passing out the other two to his mates.
“So.” Rux accepted his glass from Urien. “No rubies. No gold coins. No jewelry. No property deeds. What exactly can we give him?”
“Flowers?” Urien tried.
“From three men he doesn’t know?”
