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Securing her inside, I return the phone to my pocket and head downstairs to greet my guest.
* * *
"Would you like me to stay, boss?" Marco asks.
"No. Thank you, Marco. You can go."
He nods and shuts the door to my office, leaving me alone with Eli.
The old man is waiting for me in one of the lounge chairs by the fire, a cane propped against his leg. He seems to be progressing in his recovery, but it has done nothing to alter the frailty of his appearance. Or perhaps that is just my perception of him.
I walk to my desk and eye the bottle of scotch before thinking better of it. When I turn to meet Eli's gaze, there is a resolve in his eyes that surprises me. He is solemn but resolute as he forces himself to sit up taller.
"If you are going to do this here, I ask that you do it somewhere my daughters won't hear it."
"You think I brought you here to kill you?" I reply coldly.
"I expect as much." He shrugs. "I may be old, but I'm not stupid. You want Abel. He is wreaking havoc on your life. I'm sure you have considered all the possibilities, but we both know there is only one way to draw him out."
"Yet you came willingly." I frown.
His expression softens, and for a moment, I am reminded of the man I used to know. The man who spent countless hours at my side, imparting his wisdom to the interloper who would take over his position in IVI. At the time, I had thought it strange that he seemed to hold no resentment toward me. In fact, I had only ever regarded him to have admiration for me. He spoke as if he respected me, as if he were proud of me. And I had never known that I had thirsted for such approval until I had his.
Now, everything between us has changed. I have surpassed him in knowledge and exceeded all expectations for my role. I have outperformed his legacy on every level. I have commandeered half of his family and have made known my murderous intentions for the rest. Yet, he still comes when I call for him. He still looks at me as one might imagine a father should look at their son. I cannot comprehend it.
"I came because I accept that I am partly responsible for what happened to your family," he says. "And while I cannot confess to being as devious as you would like to believe, I set the events into motion unknowingly. And therefore, I understand your position. If my departure from this life will bring you peace, then peace you shall have. I know I cannot stop you, and I won’t hide from the inevitable. So long as you can guarantee that none of my daughters will ever be harmed by your hand."
I stare at him, blank, shaking my head in disgust. I can't tell if it's disgust for him or me.
"As much as I think it would please me to end your life, my wife claims she will never forgive me, and I am inclined to believe her."
Eli's hand shakes as he reaches inside his jacket, retrieving an envelope. "I have already written them both letters. I think it will be difficult for them, but in time, I hope they can move forward."
I glance at the envelope, curious at the contents, and then dismiss the thought entirely.
"I will need you to die, Eli." I prop myself against the edge of the desk and fold my arms. "But for now, it will be temporary."
His brows furrow together as his hand settles into his lap, still clinging to the letter. "You want to fake my death?"
"Thursday morning, the IVI coroner will arrive at the hospital and leave with your remains. An official statement of your death will be released by noon, and I anticipate by the end of the day, whoever is leaking information to Abel will deliver the news."
"And where will I be during this time?" he asks.
"You’ll be given a sedative for transport, after which you’ll be driven to a funeral home and smuggled out by my men. There's a small cottage on the property here for the groundskeeper. Marco has already secured it and outfitted the entire location with cameras. The refrigerator and pantry are well-stocked, and you will have what you need to survive during your stay there."
"How do you know this will work?" he asks.
"Because nobody but Marco and myself will know you are still alive," I answer bitterly. "Abel will have men watching, I'm certain, and it must look authentic when my wife and I attend your funeral at the end of the week. Your family’s grief must be real."
"You aren't going to tell her?" he croaks.
