Page 53 of Maksym

Chapter 8

Maksym

The dual monitors on my desk cast a cool, bluish glow across the polished surface and over the paperwork Taras had sent to me. We had satellite images of Phoenix properties, copies of corporate filings that showed legitimacy as though no crimes held the entire enterprise together.

Taras sat at the conference table ten feet away, his own laptop open, a handwritten notebook placed squarely beside it. He still preferred paper when building the bones of an investigation. Ink, he claimed, remembered the shape of thought better than a screen. His pen moved quickly, the faint scratch of it precise and steady, pausing only when he cross-referenced something on his screen.

“Devereux Holdings LLC owns the Phoenix office tower outright,” Taras said without looking up. “Purchased nineteen years ago through three intermediaries. Clean on paper. Too clean.”

“Clean usually means washed,” I said.

His pen moved. “Exactly.”

On my center monitor, Lucian Devereux smiled at me from a charity gala photograph, blond hair tied at the nape of his neck, one hand resting lightly around a wineglass, the other touching the elbow of a judge whose name I recognized from human legal circles.

I dragged the image aside and opened the next file.

“Known Phoenix holdings,” I said. “Commercial real estate, a private investment firm, finance and stock trading operations, two residential compounds, one vineyard he does not drink from, one art storage facility, three warehouses, and enough charitable boards to make him look philanthropic to fools.”

“Fools are his preferred demographic,” Taras chuffed.

“He sits on Father’s Elder Council. Fools are not his only audience.”

“Elder status provides cover. No one asks the proper questions when rank has already supplied the answer.”

I leaned back in my chair and looked again at the photograph. Lucian’s image stared back with all the calm entitlement of a creature who believed law was an inconvenience endured by lesser bloodlines.

“He brought her to Vegas,” I said quietly. “That was arrogance.”

“That was habit,” Taras replied. “Arrogance is usually only habit that has gone unpunished.”

My mouth tightened.

We had built the first layer of the board in less than an hour. Lucian’s known human-world fronts. Elder Council connections. Social allies. Vampire houses that visited his estates. Donor registries that might have been falsified. Security firms that appeared human but carried the signatures of supernatural influence. Accountants. Attorneys. Property managers. Men and women who might know nothing. Men and women who might know enough to hang.

Taras had already marked several names with a thin black line in his notebook. Not suspects yet. Questions. Questions were safer than rage. Questions kept the blade in the sheath until it knew where to enter.

“Nikolay will have records on Council attendance,” Taras said. “Father can have him start pulling info.”

“Not yet.”

“No.” He glanced up. “Not yet.”

We both understood the shape of that restraint. Once Kazimir moved through formal channels, every Elder with something to hide would feel the air change. Men like Lucian survived by sensing weather before common creatures looked up at the sky. We needed him comfortable. We needed him vain. We needed him convinced that Grace had disappeared into the desert or died in some gutter before reaching anyone who mattered.

My fingers tightened once on the arm of my chair. Grace.

The bond answered before thought finished forming her name. But I had to put the need aside. I needed to make a call.

“I need to get Remy here and up to speed before Grace has a chance to meet her.”

Remington Duval was my right hand. Next to Taras I trusted her more than anyone. A witch with superior ability, she’d been by my side for decades. I wanted her by Grace’s side as well.

“Her reaction to hearing you have found your mate should be interesting.”

“Quite.”

I made the call, and within minutes, the dark-skinned beauty from New Orleans arrived.