Page 9 of The Reckoning (Oakmount Elite #7)
“Delayed until morning. I wanted to speak with you privately first.” Richard leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. “Patricia mentioned something concerning about Lilian.”
My body goes rigid despite my best efforts to remain casual. “Oh?”
“She’s missed several appointments and isn’t responding to calls or texts. Apparently, she hasn’t been seen on campus for over twenty-four hours.”
I manufacture a frown, the expression sitting unnaturally on my face. “That doesn’t sound like Lilian.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Richard’s gaze sharpens. “When was the last time you saw her?”
The question is a trap. I can feel it, sense the careful construction of it. What does he know? What is he fishing for?
“A few days ago,” I say vaguely. “She mentioned some research project she was working on. Seemed pretty absorbed in it.”
“Research.” Richard repeats the word, rolling it around like he’s tasting it. “On what subject?”
Another trap. Another test.
“She didn’t say anything specifically. Something for one of her classes.” I shrug, affecting indifference while my mind races. “You know how she gets when she’s focused on something.”
“Indeed.” Richard’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Her focus has always been... impressive. When properly directed.”
Something in his tone raises the hairs on the back of my neck. Calculation that has nothing to do with her well-being.
“Is there a reason for concern?” I ask, playing the dutiful stepbrother that Aries was supposed to be. “With her heart condition?—”
“That’s precisely my concern,” Richard interrupts. “We’ve been developing a new treatment protocol in the Medical Research Division. Something that could significantly improve her quality of life.”
Cold dread spreads through my chest, freezing my lungs mid-breath. The Medical Research Division. The same corporate entity that ran The Facility where I was kept. Where they experiment on people under the guise of treatment.
Where they broke me, remade me, and tried to erase who I was.
“What kind of treatment?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady.
“Highly specialized,” Richard says, deliberately vague. “But with promising results in preliminary trials. We’ve been trying to reach her to discuss participation options.”
Participation options. Laughable at best. As if she’d have a choice. As if any of us ever had a choice when Richard Hayes decided what was best for the family name, the family legacy.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” I say, struggling to maintain the facade of casual concern. “Probably just buried in studies.”
“Perhaps.” Richard doesn’t sound convinced. “Even so, I’d appreciate it if you’d make finding her a priority. Before your trip to Tokyo.”
It’s not a request. Nothing from Richard ever is.
“Of course,” I agree, already calculating how to use this to my advantage. “I’ll reach out to her friends and check her usual spots.”
“Good.” Richard nods, apparently satisfied. “Now, about the acquisition?—”
The conversation shifts to business, focusing on numbers, strategies, and corporate maneuvering.
I respond on autopilot, drawing on months of research and preparation to play my part convincingly.
But my mind is elsewhere—on Lilian and whatever “treatment protocol” the Hayes empire has designed for her.
On the growing certainty that she’s in even more danger than I realized.
Richard talks, and I listen, and all the while my skin crawls with revulsion at being in his presence. At pretending to be the son he kept while carrying the scars of being the son he discarded. At playing along with whatever new cage he’s building for Lilian under the guise of medical care.
They want to trap her, just like they trapped us. The twins. The defective one and the perfect one. Specimens to be studied, controlled, and utilized for any purpose that serves the Hayes legacy.
Not this time. Not her.
The meeting drags on for another hour, an eternity of pretending to be someone I’m not while sitting across from the monster who made me.
By the time Richard finally dismisses me, the strain of maintaining the facade has left me raw, exposed, and barely containing the rage simmering just beneath the surface.
I leave the office with the appropriate farewell, the appropriate deference. The perfect son, off to do the family bidding.
The elevator doors close behind me, and finally—finally—I can exhale. Can drop the mask, if only for the brief descent back to the parking garage.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Drew. I answer without speaking.
“We have her.” Drew’s voice is tense but triumphant. “Banged up a little from the fight when they took her, and her fight when they tied her down, and…” He pauses with a slight chuckle. “The fight when she tried to get free.”
Relief crashes through me with such force that my knees nearly buckle. “Let me talk to her.”
“Not possible right now. I’m on the car’s phone, and she’s in the back with Aries. We are heading to the safehouse right now. Sorry to say it’s another shithole warehouse. Now I would love to chitchat, but I gotta make a couple more calls.”
Ice replaces relief, instant and absolute. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means we got her out,” Drew snaps. “But we might want to get her checked by a doctor.”
“Address,” I demand, voice dropping to a dangerous register. “Now.”
He hesitates, then rattles off an address.
“If she’s not alive when I get there,” I say, each word a blade, “neither are you.”
I end the call before he can respond, already calculating the fastest route from The Tower to the address. Richard’s words echo in my mind as I stride toward the car. A new treatment protocol. Promising results. Participation options.
All code for control, for manipulation, for turning Lilian into another Hayes experiment.
Over my dead body.
Or more likely, over Richard’s.
The thought brings a grim smile to my face as I slide behind the wheel. Perhaps my original plan wasn’t so far off after all. Possibly Richard Hayes will get exactly what he deserves.
A son returned from the grave to collect on two decades of debt.