Chapter 18
I stand at the entrance of the chapel as the street slowly empties.
One by one, the black cars pull away, their engines fading into the distance — signaling the end of Thomas Stone’s remembrance.
I don’t know what I expected.
But trying to summarize my father’s life in a single day feels impossible.
Most of the guests insist on shaking my hand before they leave. Their smiles are polished. Their grips soft.
Like they’re purchasing future favor.
Most of the elite families sent representatives.
Vigo didn’t.
His presence was deliberate. Unavoidable.
After our conversation, I noticed it — the shift. Conversations lowered. Movements stiffened. Brook’s discussions tripled, as if old pacts were being rechecked in real time.
The entire afternoon gave me a headache.
Now the street is almost completely empty.
Only Brook and Selena remain, standing near the curb, speaking in low tones. Business, I assume.
I can’t bring myself to care.
It didn’t even feel like a funeral.
It felt like fighting vultures off my father’s corpse.
I can’t believe people live like this every day. All over the world.
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Jesus.
I wonder how Nathan is doing.
I haven’t told him.
I haven’t told anyone from my old life that my father is dead.
I don’t want those two worlds colliding.
I don’t want this to become my only reality.
As I sink deeper into that thought, a firm hand rests on my shoulder.
“I really liked your speech, Elijah.”
Brook.
“I think Thomas would’ve laughed, though. He never really appreciated the finer emotions, did he?”
There’s a faint smile on his face.
It’s the only compliment today that doesn’t feel transactional.
“You held it together,” he adds. “Even when that crude old snake Vigo tried rattling the cage.”
I can’t tell if that’s praise — or a reminder.
“Brook,” I ask quietly, “what do you think he really wanted? He kept insisting this was an unfortunate accident… and that we should talk.”
Brook’s expression hardens. His eyes drift toward the horizon.
“Men like him always have seven angles to one conversation,” he says calmly. “My guess? He wants your favor.”
He pauses.
“Among the elites, there are still levels. The Kravitz family has been hovering near the bottom for a few years. This might be his opportunity to rise.”
Or so he thinks.
“I’m fairly certain he wants to monopolize — or at least influence — how we operate moving forward,” Brook continues. “So I hope you chose your words carefully. With men like him, even the smallest word that sounds like a promise becomes leverage.”
My throat tightens.
I wouldn’t give that man anything to exploit.
Not after how casually he dismissed Sebastian.
Not after how easily he tried to redirect me.
“Of course I was careful,” I say. “God knows Selena’s been telling me to watch my words.”
I hesitate.
“Sometimes I wish I could just stay with you.”
Brook’s face softens.
A quiet chuckle escapes him.
“Come now. She can’t be all bad.”
He exhales.
“I wish you could stay with me too. But I haven’t seen my own house in days. It’s been nothing but the office and cheap coffee from downstairs. These people won’t stop calling about their money.”
He shakes his head.
“They’re terrified of losing millions before I even begin working with them again.”
There’s exhaustion in him now.
The kind he doesn’t show inside boardrooms.
“I know Selena isn’t easy,” he adds. “But she’s necessary.”
He straightens slightly.
“Stay strong. And please — try eating real food. I don’t think cooking exists in her vocabulary.”
That actually almost makes me smile.
Almost.
And just like that, Brook walks off.
His car is already parked nearby, engine warmed and waiting.
Efficient.
Prepared.
For me, though, there’s no quiet ride home.
I’ll be with Selena.
Which doesn’t exactly feel safe.
She drives like my father did.
As if speed limits were merely suggestions.
