Chapter 6: The Treaty Table

I walked into the pack hall at nine the next morning with Hattie on my left and a blue folder under my arm.

Every seat at the council table was full.

Dalton sat at the head, with Savannah on his right and his mother on his left.

He had washed his face and put on a clean shirt.

He still looked like a man who had slept in a ditch.

Lucan sat at the far end as the treaty guest, with a guard behind him.

He did not look at me when I came in, and I knew exactly why.

The oldest elder nodded to the empty chair at the foot.

"Sit, Luna," he said. "Please."

"I'll stand."

I put the folder on the table and opened it.

"Two pages," I said. "Anybody who can't read two pages can have it read aloud."

Nobody moved.

"Page one is the reserve. Six years ago the pack held four hundred and ten thousand dollars in the winter fund. This morning it holds ninety."

A murmur ran around the table.

"That's wrong," Dalton said.

"It's your signature on every withdrawal."

"It's the Kestrel treaty. We paid them for the mill."

"We paid them one hundred and twenty for the mill. I have the receipt."

I laid it on the table.

"The other two hundred was paid to the Kestrel card house. Fourteen separate nights. A man named in the receipts as 'the Hartridge account.'"

Savannah looked at Dalton.

He did not look at her.

"It was a loan," he said. "I was going to repay it."

"Page two," I said. "The invoices for the east-wing suite. A silver tea set, a new wardrobe, two trips to the city, a mountain cabin deposit."

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