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"That's how you're going to lead?"
"For the moment. Until the city's used to me."
She hummed. "Your da wasn't smart enough to remember all that stuff."
"No. He wasn’t." The cracks in the glass on the phone rubbed against my cheek as my arm jolted when we went over a grate. "Plus, he relied on the wrong men."
"And you won't?"
"I have my brothers. They aren't the wrong men."
"I'm sure your father felt the same about his generals."
"I'm sure that he did. I'm dealing with the proof that he was wrong. What's with the call?"
"I was pondering your wife's request."
My brow furrowed. "Savannah's request?" It took a second for me to catch up. "Oh. For an interview?"
"Yes."
I rubbed my brow.
Of course, Savannah would be the wild card.
Here I was, spouting BS about knowing fucking everything about the people who mattered, and my wife was the one to prove me a liar.
But Conor had taught me a lesson. One I doubted he'd realized he'd been teaching.
Doubt was a powerful motivator.
Doubt made people forget what was real and could encourage them to believe the impossible was true.
"Your father would never have allowed me to have an interview with her."
"Before or after she became his daughter-in-law?"
"Both. He liked me to remain in the shadows."
"And you're wanting to know if I'll let you give the interview?"
"I am."
"When was the last time she emailed you?"
"Last October."
This request was out of the blue then.
"Her interests have shifted since last October."
"I know."
I thought about how Savvie had been cooping herself up this week.
She was a closet hermit by nature. Always reading and writing. But she inhabited different parts of the apartment.
I hadn't been home that much, but it hadn't stopped me from checking in with her via our security system, and I’d noticed that she rarely left our bed. Except for when it came time to hunt down chocolate.
