Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

The Audience House

1075 Cedar Post Road

Caldwell, New York

T he Black Dagger Brother Tohrment, son of Hharm, waved his freshly made cherry Danish back and forth. Around his mouthful, he said, “No, no. It’s fine, what can I help with?”

As the commanding officer of the Black Dagger Brotherhood, he was used to people asking him questions. Usually they were about shifts out in the field. Munitions. Assignments for guarding Wrath here at the Audience House.

At least it was no longer about the TV remote when Lassiter made everybody and his uncle watch Growing Pains .

Because, sure, by all means, let’s watch a seventy-year-old sitcom about —

“Sire?”

Tohr came back to attention. “Sorry. Have a seat.”

Saxton, the King’s solicitor, did not join him at the table in the kitchen nook. The dapper male continued standing there against a backdrop of doggen preparing pastries with his perfect, precise posture. Dressed formally as always, tonight he was in a tweed suit with a hunter’s red waistcoat and a coordinating ascot. With his blond hair swooped off his high forehead, he was like something from an earlier century, the Old Country ways and that aristocratic accent the kind of thing that took a brother back.

“I do not wish to intrude on your repast,” he hedged.

“Not at all.” Tohr wiped his mouth with a damask napkin and motioned to the seat across from him. “Come on, talk to me.”

The kitchen was super busy, doggen bustling around between the island in the center of the homey space, and the professional-grade oven that was seeing a raft’s worth of pastries and muffins going in and out of its heat. All the goodies were going to be eaten, too. The Audience House had a full registry tonight, twenty civilians coming in to see the King, with Tohr on sentry duty along with Phury, Zsadist, and Rhage. The registration process of the first three appointments was already started with some of Saxton’s paralegals working the males and females up, and the other brothers were waiting in the King’s room—

Tohr frowned as the solicitor stayed where he was, a file folder of paperwork in his hands, his eyes moving over to the pair of cooks. Who had been in the household for as long as anyone could remember.

But the solicitor looked worried.

Tohr got to his feet. “Hey, let’s go to your office.”

The visible relief on that F. Scott Fitzgerald face was the second red flag, and Tohr wasn’t surprised that there were no words exchanged as they entered the steel-reinforced core of the farmhouse. From this bomb-shelter-worthy hall, there were a number of access points into the rooms that the citizens cycled through as they registered, were presented to the King, and then were assigned follow-ups to their issues or ceremonies as needed. Saxton had been the one to design the workflow, Tohr had drawn up the building design with the Jackal, and this new system, which was an improvement on the way things had been done, had been implemented as they’d begun to use this facility about thirty years ago.

Plus now it was actually Wrath the civvies were seeing, and not Rahvyn pretending to be the King.

Things had finally fallen back into place after three decades of being upside down in the worst possible way.

“Allow me,” Tohr said as he got to the second door in.

After he opened things, the King’s solicitor bowed a little and walked through.

“So what have we got?” Tohr closed them in together. “What’s up with that paperwork?”

In contrast with Saxton’s sartorial distinction, the male’s office was strictly utilitarian, with a nothing-special desk that had two laptops set on it, an extra monitor, and papers set in orderly piles at right angles. There was no decoration on the walls, not even an extra chair for a visitor, and the shelving was lined with a complete set of the Old Laws. No photos, no knickknacks, no clutter, no nonsense. Here, it was business and business only, and Tohr had always liked that about the guy.

“This was left in the waiting room at the end of last night.” Saxton held the file out. “I’m not sure what to make of it.”

Tohr took what was offered, opened the folder, and frowned as he got an eyeful of columns of numbers. “What is this?”

“Financial tables, I think. Given that all of them have a decimal point followed by two digits.”

“I see that.” Tohr kept leafing through, in search of a name . . . any kind of identifier. “There are no headers, though. So are these bank account balances? Some kind of financial modeling?”

“I don’t know.” Saxton crossed his arms over his chest. “I haven’t been able to decipher any of it. You’ll note there’s a four-digit number on the upper right of each one?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Maybe that’s an ID? Anyway, the lot of them were found in the waiting room at closing.”

“Okay.” Tohr shut the file. “So we can reach out to the civilians who came through, see which of them left it behind, and give it back. No big deal.”

It was hard to understand why the solicitor was being so cagey—

“I already made the inquiries.” Saxton cleared his throat. “Each one of them denied bringing it in. And John Matthew, Qhuinn, and Butch, who were on guard, have never seen it before. I sent them some photos.”

Annnnnnd there it was , Tohr thought grimly. The fly in the ointment.

“So who the hell left it in our waiting room?”

“That’s what I’m concerned about.”

“Have you looked at the monitoring footage?”

“I’m going to ask V for it, but I wanted to check in with you first.” Saxton picked up a business-sized envelope. “This is what the pages came in. There’s nothing on the front, and the flap was sealed.”

Tohr took the envelope, but didn’t give a shit about it. “Did anything happen that was out of the ordinary?”

“No. We had three matings and two young for Wrath to bless. There was a property dispute, but it was only over a television—nothing like the number of zeroes on those figures. And then there was a death to certify, a name to register, and the planning committee for the Winter Festival.”

“Maybe it’s tied to expenses for that?”

“The female and male who came as representatives were the first people I went to. They denied it was theirs.”

Tohr glanced up. “And V hasn’t seen this yet.”

“I’m going to him next. Maybe he can decipher the figures.”

Reopening the folder, Tohr took his time on a second trip through the pages. Twelve entries, with a total at the bottom. Then, broken down, fifty-two entries, with the same sum. Same format for each of the twenty or so pages, but the figures were different, as was the four-digit sequence in the upper right.

“Maybe these are dues,” Tohr said. “Or . . . contributions. To the festival.”

But why wouldn’t the organizers claim the paperwork?

He went to the last page and frowned. “I don’t get this, though. What are all these other numbers here? It’s nearly a solid block.”

Saxton cleared his throat again. And then didn’t speak.

“What,” Tohr demanded, in the brusque tone of voice he used when dealing with new recruits—or when two of his brothers were arguing.

So not the kind of way he ever spoke to Saxton.

The solicitor put his palms forward. “I have no opinion—”

“You’re a lawyer. That’s your job.” More gently, Tohr tacked on, “I’m asking you what you think.”

The reply came out in a rush. “No one comes in here without authorization, and everybody knows we have monitoring cameras all over the place. Why would someone leave these papers and then lie about it? It doesn’t make sense.”

Tohr nodded and tucked the folder under his arm. “I’ll take it from here.”

Saxton glanced at the neat piles on his desk.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Tohr said. “This is not on you, and of course I’ll let you know everything I find out.”

The male flushed. “I worry, you know. About everything that happens here. Loose strings, things that feel messy? I cannot abide by them.”

“Understood.” Putting a hand on the solicitor’s shoulder, Tohr nodded. “And that’s why you’re so good at your job—”

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he held up his forefinger as he took it out. “’Scuse me.”

When he got a look at who it was, he frowned. “Hey, Hollywood, what’s—”

Rhage’s words came hard and fast. And when the report was finished, Tohr cursed under his breath. “I’ll be right there. Yeah, I know the address.”

As he ended the call, Saxton said, “Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” Tohr gave the folder back to the solicitor and headed for the door. “You need to take that to V, right now. I’ll check in when I can.”