by Jillian Dodd
Malcolm considers my question for a moment. “He would have voted for what was right.”
“That’s what I hoped you’d say,” I reply with a grin.
“Does that mean you’ll be at the meeting tomorrow, voting your shares?”
“Yes, Ari and I will be.” My phone dings, indicating that my driver is here.
“Where are you off to?” he asks.
“I’m having lunch with Royston Bessemer.”
Malcolm smiles at the name. “The Speaker of the House and the third most powerful man in Washington. I’d be impressed, but I think there’s more to it than that. I saw the photo of you and Peter at a recent engagement party. Does my son have a thing for his granddaughter?”
“You’ll have to ask him,” I say with a smile. “But I think he does indeed.”
Malcolm stays motionless after Huntley leaves, what she said about her father still resonating with him.
“Do you think that’s how my father would have voted?”
To be honest, he’s not sure if Ares would have voted that way if he were still alive. Ares was concerned for the greater good. His inventions always had a cause, a backstory.
But there is a lot riding on this.
He picks up his phone and makes a call to Harrison McClellan. “The director of the CIA told Huntley Von Allister that she should vote for the TerraSphere contract renewal. He told her it was a matter of national security. She and her brother intend to be at the meeting and vote their shares, meaning your proxy will no longer be valid.”
“You know what this project means for all of us,” McClellan replies.
“I do, sir.”
“Then you’d better make sure she votes right,” the man says, abruptly ending their call.
Malcolm sets the phone down, pours himself a stiff drink, and wonders again if what they are doing in Montrovia is really what Ares would have wanted.
He knows it will make the world a better place, if it doesn’t all blow up in their faces.
Lunch is at the kind of quiet, out-of-the-way place only regulars know about. The interior is plush, the service is impeccable, and the food is practically divine—and the company, well, it includes both Royston as well as his granddaughter, Blair.
We have a delightful time, discussing topics from our upcoming weddings to the latest DC gossip and everything in between.
It’s not until after we’ve finished lunch, dessert, and coffee that Royston asks to see the legal documents. At this point, Blair excuses herself but not before asking me to join her in wedding dress shopping.
Royston puts on a pair of reading glasses, gets a pen and a legal pad out of his briefcase, and goes over the lengthy document.
I sit in silence, not wanting to interrupt, as I wonder if the document he’s reading is even legal.
Black X could have sent me anything they wanted. They would have known, if we went to the board meeting, all this would come up, and they could have had time to alter Ares’s original plans, whatever they were.
Although, honestly, at this point, it probably doesn’t even matter.
After nearly thirty minutes of scratching on the paper, going back and forth between the document and his notes, and reading, he finally hands me back the document.
I raise my eyebrows in question.
“Your assets are held in the Von Allister trust, and although you have the power to empty the trust, I highly suggest that you don’t. With your father’s business, it could leave you open to financial ruin.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not. You might not understand how a trust works, but they are put in place to protect a family’s wealth through the generations. It can protect their assets in everything from a nasty divorce to a substantial lien. Say a Von Allister drone blew up over a school and someone tried to sue you in civil court, whatever is in your trust cannot be touched. Only your non-trust assets.”
“Okay, that’s good to know. Leave the money in the trust.”
“Yes. And the trust is holistic, meaning it owns all your father’s assets. Including his homes.”
“Homes?”
“Yes.” He consults his notes. “Seven properties are listed—high-value estates in the District of Columbia, Montrovia, and Scotland; two smaller properties in DC; and vacation homes in Anguilla and France,” he says.
It takes all my willpower not to just laugh out loud. Of course, the villa has always been owned by Ares. It has a vault. It’s set up just like his home in DC.
How did I not catch that?
We were told we were renting the villa, and then Lorenzo bought and gifted me something I’d already owned.
“You seem surprised.”
“Learning you are the child of a billionaire is hard to wrap your head around,” I say simply.
“I’m sure it is, but let’s get to the important part—your father’s company. The trust declares quite a few stipulations regarding the stock. First of all, regardless of how you and your brother might choose to split up the other assets, you cannot split the shares. They also have to be voted as a block. While it’s preferred that you and your brother are in agreement, you have been named executor of those shares.”
“What does that mean?”
“If you and your brother don’t agree, one of you has to make the ultimate decision of how to vote. That person is you.”
“Is there anything else of note?”
“Actually, yes. It’s in regard to a joint venture controlled by Von Allister Industries. The trust document, if I’m reading it right, and I think I am, states that upon Ares’s death, you can force the other partners to sell you their shares at a predetermined price that was set forth in the joint venture agreement.”
“What joint venture?”
“Something called Sphere Technologies.”
“Guess I need to find out what that is, huh?” I say even though I know exactly what it’s referencing—the one between my father, Malcolm, and Aleksandr.
“If you want to be involved in the business, yes, you should find out everything. If you don’t want to be, that’s okay, too. Your father would understand. When men build things, they say they are doing it for future generations, but often, they are really doing it for themselves. Powerful men seek to preserve what they have created and control what they haven’t. This trust is your father’s way of trying to preserve and control from the grave. Just remember that he gave you the power to change all of it. Ares had his life. It’s up to you to decide what you will create out of yours.”
“Thank you, Speaker Bessemer. I really appreciate you taking the time to go over this with me.” I give him a sincere smile. “And for the advice. You’re a powerful man. I’m sure you sometimes feel like you don’t know who you should trust.”
He puts everything back in his briefcase and stands up. “Go with your gut and watch your back, Huntley. It’s all we can do in life. I’ll see you tomorrow at the board meeting.”
“Guess who I just got a text from,” I say with a smile aimed directly at Peter when I return to the Prescott home and plop down on the couch next to him.
“Who?”
“Blair. Guess what else.”
“You going to ask her to be your bridesmaid?” he teases.
“No, I invited her to go to the Grand Prix with us.”
“You what? No! I can’t have them—”
“I didn’t say them. I invited her. Today, at lunch.”
“But I thought you were having—”
“Lunch with her grandfather. I did. She tagged along on his trip to London to do some preliminary wedding dress shopping. She has appointments at all the big designers and invited me to go with her.”
His eyes get huge. “And are you going?”
“Yes. Her grandfather said that marrying Daniel is like marrying royalty and that I need a very special—in other words, expensive—designer dress. Daniel wants to get married quickly. Right after the Olympics. So …”
“Tell me you aren’t pregnant.”
“I’m not pregnant.”
Peter astutely studies me. “You are trying to make Lorenzo jealous then.”
I shrug, not answering. It’s not my place to tell him about Daniel and Lizzie.
“When are you going shopping?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. I’ve got plans tonight, and then I’m going to Lorenzo’s. I have clothes and stuff there that I need to gather up. I saw a thing in the press that Lizzie is having fittings in Montrovia, so I’m sure they won’t be in town.”
“Okay,” he says.
“And don’t make plans for tomorrow night. You and Viktor are taking me and Blair to dinner.”
“Are you trying to kill me?” he says, dramatically putting his hands over his heart.
“No, I’m trying to do you a favor. She’s not married yet, Peter.”
“That is a good point,” he says, grinning.
I quickly touch up my hair and makeup and then change into a demure dress for the knighting ceremony. Although I have been to the Montrovian palace many times and felt comfortable there, I’m a little nervous about tonight.
Not that I have time to think about it. When William Gallagher picks me up in a beautiful Aston Martin, he starts right in.
“We need to talk about the case.”
“Shouldn’t you thank me for accompanying you and comment on how lovely I look first?” I ask.
He glances at me, rolls his eyes, and gives me a little bow. “You look lovely as usual, Contessa. Now, about our case.”
“There is no our case. I quit.”
“Well, your team hasn’t.”
“I don’t have a team. I was trained to work alone,” I stubbornly disagree.
“Fine. Let’s call them our team. Come on, ask me what they’re working on.”
“You’re like a little kid in a candy store, which means the team has discovered something important. Do you know what starts in Montrovia?”
“No, but we think we know who the mole in our agency is.” He hands me a photo. “This guy was pawing around Dupree’s house when it wasn’t his job to be there.”
“Do you know why he was doing that?”
“We believe he was looking for something important. You didn’t happen to take anything of interest, did you? Something that might be in your possession?”
“I might have. But it’s no big deal. Your government is already in possession of a matching one.”
“Are you talking about a weapon?” he asks, looking confused as he stops for a red light.
“No, it’s a ring. The one we saw at the museum.”
“Dupree had one like that?”
“Yes. I believe there are ten rings, passed down through time to an elite group started by Lorenzo the Magnificent, the first king of Montrovia. The owners of the rings were sort of his knights of the round table. I’m going to figure out who has the rings and destroy their secret society.”
“Sounds like you haven’t really quit,” he teases.
“I haven’t given up. I just am not taking orders from some other secret group who has done nothing but lie to me at every turn.” I sigh. “Except I still don’t know their plan for Montrovia or have any actionable proof that there even is a plan.”
“If you had to guess?”
“They are going to poison our food supply, possibly at the Olympics, and somehow significantly reduce the population of the world.”
“How significantly are we talking?” he asks.
“Like ninety-three percent dead significantly.”
Intrepid lets out a whistle. “That’s a pretty lofty goal. Gotta be nuclear. Food wouldn’t work. As soon as we established what was killing people, everyone would stop eating it.”
“We’re back to square one then.” I throw up my hands in frustration. “As I said, it’s all purely theoretical at this point.”
“So, ten bad guys—”
“Not exactly. Dupree told me Ares had a ring that would be given to my brother. There is a ring at the Victoria and Albert Museum and one in the Royal Montrovian Vault, and I have Dupree’s in my possession.”
“That leaves just six.”
“Based on my mom’s clue, we can assume McClellan and Hillford had rings. Hillford is dead. His son, Jack Junior, was killed, and he only has granddaughters, so I assume they will give it to someone else.” I also have been wondering if Malcolm and Aleksandr have rings, but I’m not ready to suggest that—not yet anyway—mostly because I don’t want it to be true.
“That leaves four or five. How hard could it be to figure out? We can track the whereabouts of the men who fit the profile through hotel, travel, and credit cards. We’ll start with McClellan and Hillford before he died and try to pull some possible names together.”
“That’d be some good busy work for your team. I’m going to work alone. There’s more. A lot more actually,” I say as we pull through the gates of Buckingham Palace.
“When were you going to tell me all this?” Intrepid snarls at me.
“I wasn’t going to tell you any of it. I can’t trust anyone. Honestly, I shouldn’t have even told you about the ring.”
“You need to give me the ring, so we can research it,” he orders.
“Get yours out of the museum. I need mine.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to do something stupid like show up at a bloody meeting and flash the ring in the hopes that you can waltz in and get these powerful men to tell you all their secrets.”
“Not at all,” I say with a smile. “I doubt they are as well trained as I am.”
“You’ve gone mad.”
“No, I’ve gone rogue. Just like my mom. Only I’m not planning to end up dead.”
I will admit that I looked up English knighting ceremonies on the internet, so I’d know what to expect. I saw photos of many celebrities getting knighted by members of the royal family, but this is different.
Of course, he wasn’t named in the papers, and due to his position with British intelligence, this won’t be public record either. The queen herself does the knighting but also in attendance are the Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service, Sir John Sampson; the British Defense Secretary, Richard Barnett; and the Prime Minister.
I’ve been trying to decide what to do about the flash drive I was given at the Sphere, wondering how I can keep the world safe as well as make the VA board happy. I come to realize, everyone who could make it happen is here tonight.
A plan quickly forms in my head.
When Intrepid introduces me to those four important people, I ask if I could have a private audience with them after dinner, only letting them know that it has to do with my father’s company and a national security risk.
“What are you doing?” Intrepid asks, sitting down at dinner next to me. “You can’t waste their time with theories. I’ll get knighted and fired, all in the same day.”
“There’s a lot I still haven’t told you. I was in Iraq at the Sphere. The CIA is worried about a piece of technology that my father’s company wants to sell on the open market. Your government should be concerned, too.”
A glass is clinked and a toast is made in Sir William Gallagher’s honor, ending our conversation.
After dinner, the six of us retire to what appears to be the queen’s office.
The Chief doesn’t mince words. “I hope you aren’t wasting our time, Miss Von Allister.”
“Considering that I was the one you should have knighted tonight, I think you owe me the courtesy,” I reply, completely blowing my cover with these people. But I don’t know what else to do.
The man all but laughs in my face. And I get it. I’m a dumb girl in a designer dress.
Maybe I need to show him.
Faster than he can probably blink, I grab a letter opener off the queen’s desk and do two consecutive handsprings, landing directly in front of him with the point of the opener at his throat. His eyes widen in surprise, but before he can react, I do a
backflip while throwing the opener across the room, hitting the hunting trophy above the fireplace directly between the eyes.
“I’m even better with a gun,” I quip, smoothing out the front of my dress. “I don’t think we need to get into all the gory details of what transpired at Marquis Dupree’s home, but it is because of me that your government recovered the nuclear backpacks. I’m only telling you that, however, so you will take me seriously. And I expect that no one will speak of it outside of this room.”
The queen sits down behind her desk and motions for me to sit in front of her.
“My biological father was Ares Von Allister. As I’m sure you know, a lot of his inventions help our countries’ militaries. You might not know that he designed something he called The TerraSphere. It’s basically an environmentally friendly city that is powered by quantum computing.
“A Sphere will house the Olympic athletes in Montrovia this summer and showcase the design to the world. Although he designed a lot of cool stuff, this was Ares’s life work. He first developed the idea before I was born, and a test Sphere was built in the Iraqi desert about seven years ago.
“This project, like many of his, was paid for through exclusive contracts with the United States government. That contract is now up for renewal. I was told by Mike Burnes, the director of the CIA, that it was a matter of national security that I vote to renew. Of course, he didn’t tell me the real reason.
“When I was at the Sphere, I discovered the answer to that question. It’s because of the quantum computing. Not because it’s unstable, but what it could be used to do if that part of the design got into the wrong hands.”
“This is a concern of all governments of the world,” the Prime Minister says, taking the chair next to me. “It could be used to destroy all our data encryption—from banking to military. If your father did indeed create this, I would second Director Burnes’s assessment.”
“My father was worried about it as well. He created a weapon he deemed The Sword. Using it as the point to attack the Sphere’s encryption, he was able to create a code it couldn’t decrypt, which he called The Shield. We will sell Spheres to the world with The Shield technology, but what I’d like to offer the British and American governments in a dual-exclusive contract is the ability to hack into any secure network anywhere in the world as well as set up your own infrastructures in a way that can’t be hacked before quantum computing becomes mainstream. I honestly have no idea what it’s worth to keep this technology to yourselves.”
