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"She's going to New York," I reply slowly, "because I arranged it. You may waste however much time you'd like on the phone with social services. They'll tell you everything's in order."
She can't even grasp the kind of money and influence I wield for this. As a Hunt, I've always had a certain pull, but I have the full might of the Heritage's power supporting me, all in order to bring this woman to her knees.
She’s screwed. Quite literally.
"Bullshit!"
I tilt my head. "Does denial usually work for you?"
"I want to speak to her social worker."
"Sit, Morgan," I repeat.
I can hear that my impatience has started to color my tone. I haven't raised my voice, but the cool, authoritarian cadence sounds too much like my father's.
She places both of her palms flat on the cool metal surface and leans in. "Fuck you."
My dick twitches.
Delightful.
I didn't expect her to challenge me. It's one thing for someone to write ultimatums from behind a screen, in the safety of her four walls. Face to face, she struck me as demure—the wallflower among her trio of friends.
I have to reassess. She’s brave. She won't back down until she understands I have her by the neck. I reach for my phone and call the last number dialed, then tap on the smooth screen to put it on speaker.
The woman on the other end answers on third ring."Mr. Hunt."
"Ms. Davis. I trust you and your charge are doing well."
"Ms. Brown's excited to fly for the first time." After a moment, she adds, "She's very sweet."
"Sweet," I mouth to Morgan. That's one word I wouldn't use for the elder sister—at least not today.
"Ms. Davis, why are you taking my sister to New York?" she demands out loud, her lilt holding authority she has no claim to.
The poor social worker hesitates on the other end of the phone."Am I talking to Ms. Morgan Brown?"
"You are," I inform her cheerfully.
Morgan's gaze cuts to mine, suspicious. She doesn't know how this game's played, or she would have realized she's already lost. I wouldn't have called if this conversation weren't guaranteed to be in my favor.
"Well, Ms. Brown, there were…circumstances. With both parents in jail, the closest adult related to Ms. Willow is her grandfather—”
"Our grandfather is in a nursing home, he can't take care of her. I'm an adult. Bring her right back."
So, so adorable.
“I’m afraid our office reviewed the case thoroughly.” Ms. Davis's voice is steel. “We decided it is best to ensure Ms. Willow Brown remains at a distance from her current influences. With no official income, and—if I may—rumors of insalubrious, illegal employment, it is our determination that you can’t possibly take care of her at your young age. You may send an appeal and we’ll investigate all the facts, but in the meantime, Ms. Brown will be taken care of by capable and vetted caregivers. Now if you'll excuse me…" I can tell she's about to cut the call short, but she catches herself. "With your leave, Mr. Hunt, I will return to my charge. She's passing through security as we speak."
"Thank you, Ms. Davis. Keep up the good work." I end the call, my eyes devouring every single one of Morgan's expressions.
Her disbelief, at first, then her pure rage. "You can't do this. You can't."
"I already have."
Unfortunate girl. Her views of the world are being challenged. Up until today, she might have believed in justice, in fairness. I've just pulled the curtain. Someone had to eventually. She needs to understand the only force that matters is power, and she has none.
"Sit, Morgan."
