The Slum Heiress Bringing Down the Elite Clan novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Guesthouse

Rafe is put on guard duty, Brielle copies her phone, and an eviction notice hits Dermot's bar.

The guesthouse stood at the bottom of the estate lawn, a stone cottage with a view of the pier.

I did not look at the pier.

I looked at the front door, where Rafe Hawkins was leaning on the frame with his arms crossed.

"You're my guard," I said.

"I'm your neighbor. The carriage house is forty feet that way."

"Is the neighbor armed?"

"Yes."

"Then I feel very safe," I said. "Come in, you're letting the cold in."

He did not come in.

"Mr. Saltonstall asked for a man on your door," he said. "Mrs. Saltonstall asked for me."

"The old lady picked you?"

"She picks everything."

"And who do you work for, Mr. Hawkins?"

He took a long moment to answer.

"Whoever signs my check," he said. "Lock the windows."

He went down the path with his hands in his pockets.

I watched him go and told myself it was only because I was checking the lawn.

Brielle came at seven with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

She wore a cream coat and the pearl earrings she wore in every family photo I had ever found online.

"I didn't know whether to hug you or hide the silver," she said, and laughed to show it was a joke.

"Hide the silver," I said. "I'm told it's the family way."

Her smile held, which told me she was good.

"Cousin," she said, trying it out. "Isn't that strange? I always wanted a cousin who wasn't a bore."

"Your father says I'm a con."

"My father says that about the weather." She poured two glasses.

"I run the foundation, Maeve. I'm the one who actually reads things."

"Come and tell me what you want."

"I want to know my mother."

"Of course you do."

She sat on the sofa and put her bag down beside my phone.

I had left it on the table on purpose.

When I went to the kitchen for a corkscrew, I heard the small buzz of a phone being unlocked.

I took my time.

The phone on the table held a very boring set of emails and two photos of a dog.

The real ones were in my bag, under the bed, in a locked case.

When I came back, Brielle was sipping her wine and looking at the harbor.

"Your father offered me twenty million," I said.

Her head turned slowly.

"Did he."

"To go away."

"And will you?"

"I haven't decided," I said, and let her see me looking at the wine.

She left an hour later with a hug, a promise of lunch, and everything on my decoy phone.

I poured the wine down the sink.

My real phone rang at nine, from a number with no name.

"Da," I said.

"Are ye alive, girl?" said Dermot Keane, in the voice he used when he was frightened and wouldn't say it.

"Alive, fed and entirely too well-dressed."

"The whole Flats saw ye on the news. Half the bar went out and bought a television to watch it again."

I laughed, and then my throat closed.

"Da, did I do it right?"

"Ye did it better than right. Ye did it like your mother."

Neither of us talked for a moment.

"Maeve," he said, and I heard the change in his voice. "There's a thing."

"What thing?"

"Men came to the bar at six with a notice. Every door on Pell Street got one. Sixty days to clear out."

"Who signed it?"

"Saltonstall Holdings. Some company name in the corner."

"Read me the signature."

I heard paper rattle.

"Brielle Saltonstall, Director of Community Partnerships."

I sat very still on the edge of the bed.

She had signed the notice at four, while she was texting me about lunch.

"Da," I said. "The lot your bar is on."

"I know. The tower."

"Don't sign anything. Don't move a barstool. I'll be home."

"Ye'll not be home, ye'll be at the lion's table, where ye belong."

"I'll be home for the fight," I said.

After he hung up, I went to the window.

A light was burning in the carriage house, and a shadow stood in it, watching my door.

I turned the lamp off so he would know I knew.

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