His brows snapped down. There had been a forgery scandal some years ago. Paintings by a moderately unknown artist, complete with authenticity paperwork, had started floating around. Each piece not going for any more than £10,000, which is really what they were worth. But there were murmurings, rumblings, that they were forgeries.
They weren't really worth paying attention to, but I remembered the scandal for the Jameson family because Garreth had been caught in the fray as having some mild acquaintance with the forgers. Those in tighter circles had murmured that he had forged some pieces himself.
While a talented painter, he lacked imagination in his own work, but he had the skill to copy well enough. It was a skill that, in and of itself, was amazing. He just lacked vision.
He nodded, giving me that standard rich-git smile. How many times had I given that smile? The one that we were all bred to give. The one we were all taught. We learned it by watching our fathers do it in social situations. Ninety percent smugness, five percent disdain, and five percent contempt. It made my hands itch to hit him.
"Well, congratulations," he muttered.
I nodded. "Congratulations to you too. I didn't think the Elise would fit your collection from what I've known of it, but way to branch out. Good for you."
Even though that smug smile remained in place, I could see the slight furrow of his brow. He was not good at hiding his emotions.
As I turned to leave, he said, "It’s been a long time since I've seen AJ. She was one of my favorite people.”
Time stopped as my brain locked into the fact that he had the nerve to speak my sister’s name after what he did to her.
I might not be able to use my burn against another member of the Elite, but I could certainly throttle this worthless wanker.
A burn was a complete social, financial, personal annihilation of someone. And no matter what, another member of the Elite couldn’t save them. Short of murder, you could do anything to ruin them. We each were inducted with one burn available to us. But Elite members were exempt from a burn.
I took a step toward him, and then I felt a soft hand on my arm. My gaze flickered to the right, Charlotte Bryce, the auction director, smiled up at me. "Mr. Hale, if you would just come with me, I have arranged for delivery of your pieces. Just tell me which ones go where."
I settled my gaze back to Jameson, and he gave me a head nod, though smugness and malice were reflected in his eyes as I said, "I'll be seeing you again, mate."
He grinned. "Yeah, you certainly will."
What was supposed to happen was that I turn and follow Charlotte, but my brain was having none of that. Instead I indulged in the fantasy of beating the snot out of him, right there. From our years in the Elite, I knew hand to hand wasn’t his specialty. He’d rather taken to fencing.
I could take him.
I could. I really could. But I needed to get my shit under control. Vengeance would be much sweeter if I made him squirm first. So, I forced myself to unclench my fists, then I turned and walked away.
Jameson might think he'd won that round, but we were coming for him. He had a lot to answer for.
East
To catch a thief, you needed to be a thief. Prince Lucas of the Winston Isles had taught me that.
So for the evening, amongst the glitz and glamour, I was exactly that. International thief. No, international spy. A regular James Bond.
You wish.
“East? Mate, are you focused?”
I frowned as Ben’s voice pinged in my earpiece. “Hush, I know what I’m doing.”
Bridge’s voice was wry. “Are you sure about that? Maybe we should ask your last girlfriend.”
I bit back my scowl as I took a sip of the champagne. “Would you two knobs shut it so I can get this done?”
Bridge’s chuckle was low. “You know, I quite like being the one in the van. This is easy. Twist a few knobs, glance at a few monitors. Why are you always whining about how it’s not easy to be in the van?”
“I swear to God, Bridge, if you touch any of my shit, I will kill you.” I loved my mates, but my gear, those computers… They were like my children.
“Oh relax, I’m not going to break your precious machines.”
Ben’s voice was gruff. “Both of you, focus. The sooner this is done, the sooner we all get to move on.”
I placed my champagne glass on the tray of a passing waiter. It was showtime.
We’d all drawn straws as to who would be next in line to deal with the Elite, the one to deal the next blow. It was between Drew and me. And as Drew wasn’t attending the gala tonight on account of fatherhood duties, where both Jameson and Middleton would be, I was the lucky git.
When we were barely more than kids, we’d all joined the fastest path to fortune and power. Some of us had to learn hard lessons along that path.
For starters, the three of us, the London Lords, could have made it without the Elite. Membership had its benefits, but we’d been determined not to use those benefits if we could help it. They came with too many strings.
To make matters worse, our so-called brothers were behind the death of our friend. So, tonight was about payback. And she was one hell of a feisty bitch.
The aim was to clone their phones. Once we could listen in, we’d get leverage. And once we had leverage… It was game over for them. Ben, as Director Prime, needed to be above reproach. And someone needed to be in the van to make sure the data came through. Someone also needed
