Chapter 9 - The King's Desperation
Brandon Whitmore was not a man who accepted defeat easily.
He made bail three days later. His lawyers argued that the medical records were forged and that the financial discrepancies were administrative errors.
The moment he was released, he didn't go to his lawyers. He went looking for Margaret.
He assumed she had run to a cheap motel, or perhaps to a domestic violence shelter.
He drove to Rosewood Care Center first, fully intending to drag Teddy out of his bed as leverage.
When the administrator told him Teddy had been transferred internationally, Brandon lost his mind. He destroyed the reception desk, screaming until security dragged him out.
Sitting in his car, breathing heavily, Brandon realized the truth.
She was with Fontaine.
Brandon pulled out a burner phone. He still had connections in the city's underbelly—men who didn't care about Austin Fontaine's rules, men who operated purely on greed.
"I need a hit," Brandon barked into the phone. "Austin Fontaine. I don't care what it costs."
The voice on the other end chuckled darkly. "Fontaine is untouchable, Doc."
"Everyone bleeds," Brandon snarled. "I'll give you five million. But you bring the girl to me alive."
Meanwhile, Margaret was staying at a heavily guarded penthouse overlooking the Inner Harbor.
It was Austin's private residence.
For three days, she slept. When she woke, there was fresh food, clean clothes in her size, and silence. No footsteps to fear. No raised voices.
Austin barely came to the penthouse, giving her space to heal.
But on the fourth night, he walked in looking exhausted. His knuckles were bruised, and there was a small cut on his cheek.
Margaret stood up from the sofa, alarmed.
"What happened?" she asked, grabbing the first aid kit from the bathroom.
Austin sighed, sitting heavily on a barstool in the kitchen.
"Your husband tried to hire the Barzini crew to kill me," Austin said casually, as if discussing the weather.
Margaret's hands shook as she opened an alcohol wipe. "Did they... did they hurt you?"
"No," Austin said. "But the Barzini crew no longer exists."
He hissed slightly as Margaret pressed the wipe to his cheek. She stood very close to him, her scent of vanilla and clean soap filling his senses.
"He won't stop, Austin," Margaret said softly. "He's obsessed with control. He'll keep coming."
May you like
Austin looked up at her, their faces inches apart.
"Let him come," Austin murmured. "I have prepared a special operating room just for him."
