Page 22 of Deadly Legacy (The House of Matvei #3)

T he surveillance sweep took seventeen minutes, each second ticking by like a countdown to detonation. Reuben stood at the window of Quantize Guard’s conference room, his fingertips tapping against the sill.

Through the glass, he tracked movement in the parking garage entrance while Stepan’s team swept for hidden threats, their equipment humming softly as they searched for electronic intrusions.

Stepan snapped the detection case closed with a soft click. “It’s clear. No foreign surveillance devices. Our own feeds are operational.”

The tension between Reuben’s shoulder blades eased slightly as he rolled his neck to one side. “The founders?”

“Waiting in the lobby with their legal team.” Stepan glanced at his watch, his brow furrowing. “Dmitrii’s car just entered the parking garage. Two minutes, maybe less.”

Reuben turned from the window, fingers finding his tie. The cool silk slid against his skin, a small comfort against the iron tension filling his chest.

His gaze settled on the contract centered on the conference table, pages arranged in neat lines. Months of careful planning, countless sleepless nights, all funneling down to this single meeting.

Jacob Reynolds, Matthew Capital’s lead analyst, arranged his tablet and notes while Anya Meyers, their legal counsel, reviewed the final contract points. Both had proven their worth during the Quantize Guard negotiations, and Reuben trusted them to get the job done today.

The door swung open. The Quantize Guard founders entered, anticipation radiating from them in almost visible waves.

Mia Adebayo’s professional nod contrasted with the anxious energy radiating from Stephan Yan and Drew Davies as their eyes darted to the security personnel stationed at strategic points throughout the room.

Mia settled into her chair, spreading her contract copies in a fan pattern. “Everything ready?”

“All set.” Reuben took his seat, hands folded on the table. “Just waiting for—”

The conference room door swung wide. Dmitrii Miroslav entered with the confident stride of someone who considered ownership merely a formality yet to be completed. His presence seemed to compress the air in the room, making it a little harder to breathe.

Behind him came two men in tailored suits—the distinctive silver-haired legal counsel and the finance director from Wallace’s team. But no Wallace.

“Where’s Mr. Wallace Hoyt?” Drew Davies frowned, looking past Dmitrii toward the door.

“Wallace sends his regrets.” Dmitrii waved a dismissive hand. “He’s been unexpectedly detained. Nothing serious, I assure you. His team is fully authorized to proceed.”

“That’s... unusual for a closing of this magnitude,” Mia noted, her brow furrowing.

“Well, business is unpredictable,” Dmitrii smiled with a careless shrug of his shoulders. “As you all well know.”

A woman followed Dmitrii into the room. Reuben’s breath froze mid-inhale.

Charlotte Cheslyn paused in the doorway. Her gaze swept across the conference room with the detached assessment of someone cataloging potential networking opportunities at a charity gala.

She had reverted to her maiden name after divorcing Wallace, maintaining it even through her recent remarriage.

It was a choice that Reuben recognized as his mother’s effort to distance herself from Wallace Hoyt while retaining the social connections she’d built during the years she’d been married to him.

When her eyes passed over Reuben, they continued their scan without the slightest flicker of recognition. No maternal warmth. No hesitation. Nothing.

Under the table, Reuben’s fingers pressed hard against his palms, the pressure building until his hands trembled slightly. Something cold crystallized in his chest, a sensation like ice forming over still water.

“Charlotte Cheslyn.” Dmitrii gestured toward her with a lazy flick of his wrist. “A wonderful addition to our meeting. Her husband is quite invested in our city’s security infrastructure.”

“Pleasure to meet you all.” Charlotte’s lips curved upward while her eyes remained glacial.

Her honey-blonde hair swept back in the exact same style Reuben remembered from school events and hurried goodbyes.

“I was told Senator Greason’s wife would be joining us to discuss some community initiatives? ”

“She’ll be here shortly.” Dmitrii’s gaze locked onto Reuben’s face, hunting for cracks in his composure.

Reuben felt his features settle into the expressionless mask he’d perfected at countless poker tables. He stood, arm extending toward his mother. “Welcome to Quantize Guard. Reuben Hoyt, Matthew Capital Ventures.”

Her hand felt cool against his skin, the contact lasting barely a heartbeat. The scent of her signature perfume wafted over him, unchanged since his childhood.

“Hoyt?” Her head tilted, birdlike. “Any relation to Wallace?”

“His son.” Reuben’s voice emerged flat and smooth, betraying nothing of the storm building beneath his ribs.

Charlotte’s smile froze before widening into a practiced social mask.

“How fascinating,” she remarked in a voice pitched to carry just enough for nearby listeners.

“Wallace never mentioned having a son in finance.” Her eyes flicked briefly to the others in the room, ensuring they registered this performance of polite surprise.

But a flash of recognition had crossed her face, betraying her lie. Although it was quickly buried beneath social blankness, Reuben noticed how her fingers tensed on her handbag strap and her spine straightened just a fraction too rigidly.

“We should probably get started,” Mia suggested, glancing uncomfortably between them.

“Of course.” Reuben returned to his seat, setting his shoulders. “The final terms are before you. Matthew Capital is prepared to offer full acquisition at twenty percent above valuation.” Reuben gestured to the documents in front of the Quantize Guard founders.

Dmitrii leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished table.

“A generous offer. However, I believe our proposal deserves equal consideration.” He nodded to one of Wallace’s team members, who slid a folder across to Mia.

“Hoyt Investment Group has increased its offer by fifteen percent above our previous terms.”

Jacob Reynolds leaned close to Reuben, whispering, “They can’t back that up financially. Their last three quarterly reports show significant losses.”

Reuben nodded slightly, keeping his focus on Dmitrii. The Russian’s confidence suggested something else was in play.

“We appreciate both offers,” Mia began, glancing between the two parties, “but Matthew Capital’s proposal better aligns with our long-term vision.”

“About that vision,” Dmitrii cut in, his eyes never leaving Reuben’s face. “There are some things you should know about your potential partner.”

The air conditioning hummed loudly in the sudden silence that followed. Reuben kept his expression carefully neutral, despite the growing unease in his chest.

“Mr. Miroslav,” Anya Meyers interjected, “we’re here to finalize terms, not discuss corporate politics.”

“This goes beyond politics,” Dmitrii replied. “It’s about integrity. Don’t you think you deserve to know when you’re being deceived?”

Reuben caught the quick glance Charlotte shot toward Dmitrii, confusion flickering across her features.

“For instance,” Dmitrii continued, “did you know that Reuben here has been working with Wallace while pretending to compete against him?”

The Quantize Guard founders exchanged uneasy looks.

“That’s not true,” Reuben said calmly. “Wallace and I haven’t had a personal relationship in years.”

“Then what’s this?” Dmitrii pulled out his phone, sliding it across the table. On the screen was a surveillance photo of Reuben and Wallace at Vasilisa, deep in conversation.

“Where did you get that?” Reuben’s voice hardened.

“The same place I got this.” Dmitrii pressed a button on his phone. Reuben’s voice filled the room, tinny but clear through the phone’s speaker: “You’re suggesting we partner on the acquisition?”

Then Wallace’s voice: “My firm would be the public face of the deal. And your team would handle the technical evaluation and integration planning.”

The recording stopped with a click. Dmitrii’s smile widened at the shocked expressions around the table. “Family business, it seems.”

The sharp scrape of Charlotte’s chair against the floor cut through the tension as she turned toward Reuben. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I think,” Dmitrii said, rising to his feet, “that father and son have been playing us all.”

“That’s not quite accurate,” came a voice from the doorway.

Wallace stood there, his elegant suit slightly rumpled, a day’s growth of beard shadowing his jaw. A cut above his eyebrow had crusted with dried blood.

The shock on Dmitrii’s face lasted only a millisecond before his composure returned. “Wallace. What a surprise.”

Wallace stepped into the room, his movements stiff. His eyes found Charlotte’s, and something passed between them—not warmth, but recognition of shared history.

“Charlotte.” Wallace nodded curtly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Clearly.” Her voice was brittle. “I was promised a networking opportunity with the senator’s wife. Not... whatever this is.”

“Dmitrii has been lying to all of us,” Wallace said, turning to the Quantize Guard founders. “He doesn’t want to invest in your technology. He wants to use your facial recognition software to track people throughout the city.”

Dmitrii’s laugh was cold. “And now the desperate lies begin.”

“Are they lies?” Wallace reached slowly into his jacket pocket, producing a small notebook. “The notebook contains records of every illegal transaction you’ve forced me into over the past six months. Including your plans for Quantize Guard.”

The color drained from Dmitrii’s face. “Now!” he barked into his sleeve, the word echoing off the glass walls of the conference room.