by Celia Crown
Ah, so he knows my name. He’s done his research when he went home with his tail stuck between his legs. I have provoked a man who doesn’t like to be challenged and not have the last laugh.
The letter is his way of getting back to me. I haven’t even begun to start worrying yet; people like Braxton Berkshire are not one of a kind. They have been common from the time I was being housed with a bunch of entitled, albeit brilliant, children who believe their intelligence makes them entitled to everything.
I was a troublesome child, causing trouble for the supervisors and the guardians that took care of us while we were being placed in the international program. Once a day, I like to poke at their ego to see if it would deflate quicker than water being drained.
The common reaction I would get is explosive anger mixed with embarrassment because they humiliate themselves. I simply mention a little thing, and they blow it into a massive proportion.
They can’t blame anyone but themselves for being hotheaded.
“What I am doing is charity.”
I hum, glancing out the window to see the profile of a bodyguard by the door and the other one on the other side near the end of the building.
“I didn’t realize that charity consists of putting your foot into research facilities, and it’s a shame that it happened to be the one where I work.”
Braxton chuckles. Even his freaking laugh is measured perfectly in breaths. This man is either a machine, or he is a doll. I have no idea which one is creepier, considering he just has this weird vibe around him.
“No, no.” He chuckles again, showing me those white teeth. “It’s an investment for future businesses.”
Oh my, that sounds like a threat.
“I see. What do you plan on doing with the research facility? I believe your specialty is music.”
He doesn’t hide his dislike towards me with his eyes, but he keeps his façade firmly on for the sake of public appearance. If his lawyer had called me and told me to meet them in a more isolated area for privacy, then I would most likely be harmed.
Braxton would want to let out his aggression on me, and I could tell that by the way he first laid eyes on me when I walked through the coffee shop.
“A businessman never reveals his secrets, Miss Scarletta.”
I put down the spoon, and a coffee stain hit the white coffee cup plate. Anger and something else flashes in his eyes as he forces his eyes to not linger at the stain. His hand twitches on the table, but he tries to hide it with his other hand as they squeeze together.
OCD? I wonder if he has that or his upbringing was so strict that he doesn’t leave any stains anywhere.
“Our new intern, Tanya is a very intense fan of yours. You wouldn’t happen to want to meet her?”
His lips tighten, a white line meets his smile. “Would I?”
“If I didn’t know any better, I would assume you have already met her. Since, you know, you have been given a tour around the facility.”
Yesterday night, Beth Senior and Beth Junior had called me in a three-way talk over the internet about them seeing Braxton Berkshire’s ghost floating around the facility. It took them a while to notice that he was real, and he had two legs walking on the clean floor.
Braxton works fast; I’ll give him that. Mere hours after his humiliation, and he’s already forming a plan to attack me in a place where I am the most comfortable other than being with Cal and Mr. Wolf.
“Hypothetically. Imagine this,” I say, tapping my nails on the table. “You buy your way into a privately-owned research facility, control every piece of information that flows through there, and have moving surveillance on the researchers… it’d be scandalous when the media picks up on it because you are petty?”
His teeth grind, his jaw clenches, and fingers curl into fists. “You have an active imagination, Miss Scarletta.”
“I’m a big fan of detective work.” More specially, I’m a fan of Mr. Wolf and his ability to solve crimes.
I’m doing this for Mr. Wolf, or I wouldn’t have thought about getting acquainted with a man who probably discards his toothbrush after only one use.
“I believe you are a brilliant woman, Miss. Scarletta. A bit naïve, but still a very amazing researcher.”
This man is resorting to that push-and-pull method in insulting me. It’s fine; it takes a lot to insult me because being surrounded by genius brats at the program has helped me build me a thicker skin than this man’s petty insults can’t pierce.
“Allow me to let you in on a business secret,” he whispers, leaning towards the middle of the table. “Your every move will be supervised and documented. It’d be a shame to catch any misfortunes during your stay. I have people willing to go to prison for me and more money to spend destroying you than you can imagine. You wouldn’t want your housemate to be caught up in a mess, do you?”
If he is going to frame me for a crime that I didn’t commit, at least he shouldn’t give me a warning beforehand. He is a dumb criminal but a smart businessman; he has to suck at something, and this is it.
“I still don’t understand why you have this sudden interest in rare disease research, but I could hazard a guess.”
His smile twitches, faltering for a moment before he regains his composure. “I have an ill father. I wish to help him in any way I could. Investing in the research facility for rare diseases may save him.”
He purposely lets his fans at the next table hear and coo at him, praising him for being a good son, and he would be a great husband since he is at the age where he needs to pop out a child to inherit whatever Braxton Berkshire would leave behind.
“Mr. Berkshire’s illness is not a secret, and what you are telling me is old news. It’s a bit odd that only now you are interested in this field.”
Braxton’s lips twitch. “It is never too late to begin.”
“Or,” I slowly draw out. “Is this sudden interest coming from a place closer to home? Such as self-preservation?”
His jaw ticks; his composure is failing again. I can make an educated guess from the videos that I have looked upon him and the experiences from having a live sample to engage with, Braxton Berkshire is not a well put together man.
He’s in a costume, fitting and catered to his image while the real him lurks under that porcelain skin.
I’m going to have so much fun breaking his façade one piece by one piece.
I wasn’t going to do anything, and I had nothing planned when I came into this coffee shop. I just expected a bit of a tantrum or a restraining order because that’s what rich people do when they don’t get what they want, but he had mentioned my housemate.
Either he’s talking about Cal or Mr. Wolf; I do not take kindly to my precious family being threatened.
Braxton clearly has no idea what being an international program’s gifted children means. It is tested intelligence pushed into breaking those limits that we put on ourselves and brutally crushing the competitions when an acumen analysis would be administered.
Mr. Wolf is not the only animal in the house.
“Allow me to fill you in on a secret of the facility, Mr. Berkshire.” I pick up my bag from the ground and slip on one strap.
“Every researcher’s data and findings are kept under their own locks. It is in the contract we signed; you cannot simply check our work progress. It’s illegal, and you wouldn’t want another public outrage, would you?”
He tightly folds his hands. “This is not over.”
“Oh,” I coo, highly pleased at his will to continue this game with me. “I am far from done, Mr. Berkshire.”
Ah, yes. I forgot about the letter and the content that needed to be addressed. I stand from the chair with the untouched coffee cooling on the table, and I take the letter too since it was supposed to be given to me.
“I work for myself. You can give me one million in benefits every year, and I still wouldn’t work for you.”
He chuckles, not the response that I was expecting. However, not being able to
fully read him is what makes toying with Braxton an entertainment for me.
“I was expecting that, Miss. Scarletta. I already have what I came here for.”
I cock an eyebrow, staring down at him while he sips his chamomile tea with a hint of distinctive Nepeta cataria that leaves a faint minty scent. An odd choice for a drink, but rich folks have rich taste buds.
“Is that so,” I murmur, nonchalantly. I have no intention of giving him the pleasure of knowing he had gotten my curiosity as to what his intention was when he called me here.
I lean closer to him, cutting off the chance of others hearing us. “I wouldn’t try to frame me for a crime with my fingerprint on the spoon. That’d be a spiteful job even for you.”
“Good day,” I bid him goodbye and leave him in the coffee shop by himself.
As I stroll down the streets of this busy city, I have no qualms about anyone following me. Braxton isn’t above using dirty tricks if this experience teaches me anything. I should expect to be followed, but that’s fine.
I’m going to see Cal and Mr. Wolf anyway. I doubt they will follow me into the police station while all dressed in black suits and an earpiece popping out of their heads. A possibility that he has police officers in his pocket is too evident to be neglected, and I’m very inquisitive about how this case will go in court.
The case will start in less than one week, and time is of the essence. I should pick up my pace now that I have another piece of the puzzle. It brings a lot of light into the Berkshire family history just by the information I collected in that ten-minute meeting.
“Hello, officer,” I greet the man at the front desk. “I’m looking for Mr. Wolf.”
There is only one person named Wolf in this place, and he immediately knows who I’m talking about. The officer smiles at me; his mood lightened when I address him by his title rather than a lower and more general title.
Cal said that every officer, no matter what rank they are, wants to be acknowledged for their accomplishments, so their titles are extremely important to them.
“Give me a moment,” the officer says, picking up the phone. It rings and rings, but no one picks up.
“They must be busy.” He hangs up.
I nod, not all too heartbroken about it. They are detectives; their job requires them to run around the city when a lead pan out.
“Thank you, officer.” I smile, waving at him as I turn to leave.
There’s an angry shout, and a struggling man barks out curses at Cal who has him in handcuffs. Of all the times I have visited him at the police station, I have never seen him or Mr. Wolf pull in someone with handcuffs.
No one bats an eye at the scene, nor do they spare a second glance. This scene is not of rare occurrence, but I’m amazed at the calmness in Cal’s eyes as he crooks an eyebrow at me.
“What’re you doing here?”
I pull my backpack to the side, fishing out the envelope and a memory card. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, skepticism etched on his frown as the struggling man tugs on his restraint harder.
“What’s that?” he asks.
I secure the memory card into the envelope and goofily grins at him. “Don’t open this until your next biggest emergency.”
“What?” he grunts, restricting the man’s movement by snapping a hand on his shoulder. A single push down on a pressure point makes the man’s knees buckle.
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll come in handy!” I wave the envelope, but my attention falls on the ever-handsome Mr. Wolf.
My smile grows wider, brighter, and much happier. Cal snorts and much to his chagrin, I skip to Mr. Wolf as he meets me halfway with us being in the center of a spectacle.
“What are you doing here?” he inquires, curious eyes flickering between my face and the envelope in my hand.
“I come bearing gifts!” I smack the envelope into his hand and promptly throw my arms around his neck, but I had to get on my tiptoes to be able to do that.
His arm naturally coils around my waist as he brings me closer to him. Cal’s throat rumbles, resembling a cough and an awkward throat-clearing motion.
We’re in public, but I feel no shame in showing my affection to the man that I love. Smooching my lips to his cheek, I let go of Mr. Wolf’s neck and create some space by taking one step back.
His back hair is messy; his eyes darken at the innocent kiss. I just need to break his control over his desires a little more to have him show his true self. I want to know what he wants; I desperately want to hear him say he wants me.
The need to hear his voice saying, ‘I love you’ is consuming.
“Why aren’t you at work?” Cal demands, glaring at the back of my head.
I spin around, my eyes noting a lot of stares directed at us. Good, this is what I want. The plan is in motion; I want everyone to see the envelope in the hands of two very capable detectives. My goal is not the nosy ones; I’m trying to lure the ones that have ill intentions towards me.
Braxton would definitely have eyes on me and everyone I am close to. This is the perfect chance to test out my theory to see just how scared he is and where his sense of confidence stands.
“I’m on my lunch break, Uncle Cal.” I pout, lips puckering innocently. “I wanted to come to visit you.”
He grunts again, passing the man in handcuffs off to another officer with an order to put him in lockup. “You could have brought food.”
“Something came up, and I couldn’t buy you guys something.”
Cal narrows his eyes, skepticism clinging to his wrinkles around his eyes. He tips his head towards an empty room that’s away from everyone else. Mr. Wolf splays his fingers around my shoulder and guides me to the room.
“What?” Curiosity laces my voice.
“I know you, Scarletta.” Cal scowls, glowering low in his voice. “What did you do?”
“I did nothing,” I admit, but I have no reason to hide the truth from him. “I met with Berkshire.”
“What!” his voice roars.
It is still within my expected response. I only flinch at the volume while Mr. Wolf’s hand puts painful pressure on my shoulder.
“His lawyer called, and I met with him. In public, if you must know. He didn’t do anything funny other than trying to get me to work for him.” The explanation is easy. I’m merely recalling the string of events without spilling too many pointless details.
“Why the hell does he want you to work for him?” Mr. Wolf snaps; the question is directed to no one and yet, he is expecting it to be answered.
I hum briefly. “I’m not sure.”
Cal takes a big step towards me. His adult demeanor comes in view as his usual casual posture leaves.
“I don’t know what he’s trying to do, but I don’t want you near a ten feet radius of him.”
I open my mouth to argue. “That’s unlikely—”
“I don’t want to give him any leverage to fuck up our case, Scarletta. You’re a smart girl, but he has money and access. He’s going to hurt you.”
It’s hard to contain the excited grin on my lips as glee begins to pop in my boiling blood. I’m actually very intrigued and excited to see what trick Braxton would pull to get this case tossed out.
I’m not doing this for the victim or her family. I’m not sabotaging this case for Mr. Wolf and Cal—I’m doing this for my own satisfaction of ripping that perfectionist mask off and watch him bleed with pathetic bellows.
“I won’t meet with Braxton again under one condition.” I lift one finger up, gauging Cal’s reaction, and he vehemently shakes his head.
“No condition, and you will do what I say.”
Mr. Wolf comes to the rescue, voice firm and deep. A rumble travels from his wide chest and ghosts over my spine as he keeps his hand on my shoulder, a hand symbolically representing his deep possession and vile obsession.
“Hear her out, Cal. She isn’t someone to be reckless.”
Cal clenches his fist and jerks his head. “I�
�ll say no if I don’t like it.”
“I want to be there to watch the case.” Having a first-row seat to witness body language and see how Braxton’s mind works would give me the advantage to see how I can utterly make that man kneel in defeat.
I’m such a terrible person, but he was the one who initiated this war when he threatened my family.
“Why?” Cal questions.
“No ulterior reasoning other than simple curiosity.”
He thinks for a solid minute, and Cal silently looks over my head to Mr. Wolf. The silence conversation is not beneficial to me, but I should keep my mouth shut if I want this to be in my favor.
“Alright, but you cannot go near or talk to him. He doesn’t exist in your eyes as anything but a criminal.”
I nod, snappily agreeing to his condition.
“And,” he stresses as he adds on to his own condition. “One of us has to be with you at all times.”
Easy condition. I don’t need to interact with Braxton to study him because he’s better observed as a life sample as I can see more when I have the whole picture.
My theory and the initial interest in Braxton stems from his family history and their unfortunate generations that all have been littered with illnesses. By computer calculation, their rate of contracting diseases is higher than average, and that is not normal.
However, hereditary illness contraction rate is even greater.
Question is: does Braxton Berkshire suffer the same fate?
“You have that stupid expression on again.”
“Oh my, sorry, Uncle Cal.”
Chapter Six
Wolf
“You’ve been busy,” I point out as we sit in the courtroom.
Today is the court date for trial. The family of the victim is sitting just one row behind us, whimpering with tears and comforting words. On the other side are the delusional supporters of the Berkshire family.
The older Berkshire is in a wheelchair, nursed by a medical professional and breathing through an oxygen tube through his nose.
Braxton sits with his lawyers while the prosecutor sits in front of us. Scarletta wants a front-row seat to see what is happening, but her eyes are wandering towards Braxton. Both sides have been fighting to prove to the jury that he is or he isn’t the killer of a young girl.
