ethics are real. When they are only figments of our collective imagination. The only real thing is money.”
“How much would you deal us in for?” she asked. And there was a hardness in her tone that sped my pulse. The charming former con artist had come out to play.
“For you two? Ten million dollars.” The man said this with such outrageous confidence I saw how easily he had managed this criminal empire and remained hidden. For most people, money did outweigh morals.
“That’s a lot of fucking money,” she said, chuckling softly. “Can you believe it, Abe?” She kept her expression neutral when she peered my way. But flicked her eyes once to the left—her tell. Her tell on purpose. We just needed to keep Bernard talking and distracted for a few minutes more.
“I cannot believe it. And what would this ten million do for you?” I asked, playing into Sloane’s game. Whatever it was. Trusting she was right.
“Keep this secret,” Bernard said sharply. “Give me time to… move to an even more secluded location for my sabbatical. Gather my things, gather my guards. It shouldn’t be too arduous of a task for the two of you. Besides, don’t you get profit from my alleged misdeeds?”
This son of a bitch.
“We do actually,” I said. “Doesn’t Holmes need an adversary? Isn’t Moriarty just as vital?”
“Yes, Mr. Royal. Life is boring without a villain,” he said. “Although money makes villains of all of us. Once you embrace that human weakness, you can turn it into strength.”
Sloane’s fingers tightened on her glass almost imperceptibly. I knew she understood that weakness intimately.
“Besides, if it’s only the three of us,” he said. “This secret could stay safe for years and years to come. Who else would possibly know?”
The sweetest sound in the world hit my ears. Sirens. With my own confident smile, I raised my hand and beckoned behind me. “Henry?”
I would never, ever forget watching Henry step into this room with Delilah close behind.
“Good evening, Bernard,” he said.
The glass of whiskey shattered on the floor.
Bernard was effectively speechless; anger turning his face red, then purple. He made a move to rise from the chair, but Henry held up a finger.
“I wouldn’t,” Henry said. “This time I did call the authorities.”
There was a loud banging on the door as police sirens invaded the small space.
Henry slid his hands into his pockets. “Ah,” he said. “That would be them just now.”
46
Abe
We had two minutes, maybe less. Bernard stood, hands shooting out for something—probably a weapon—and Delilah snapped, “Don’t.”
Bernard paused, eyes scanning the room.
I leaned forward in my chair—made sure I captured Bernard’s frantic gaze. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” I said. “But the four people standing in front of you are not villains. And I intend to personally guarantee that you spend the rest of your life in prison.”
He visibly paled, shaking. Henry strode right up to him, confidently. Still calm. “Thank you for making me complicit in your crimes, Bernard. If you hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have met Abe. Wouldn’t have become a private detective. Wouldn’t have met my fiancée.” Henry lowered his tone. “And if you hadn’t made me complicit, I wouldn’t have fucking found you. What did you say to me that night? It’s only a crime if you get caught?”
Police officers shoved their way in—all of us stepped back, hands in the air. Except for Bernard, who suddenly looked as small and cowardly as he truly was.
“Looks like you got caught,” Henry said.
“That man is Bernard Allerton,” I said loudly to the first police officers storming in. “He is a known international suspect for theft and forgery, among many other things.” Bernard’s hands were wrenched behind his back as he was cuffed. His confidence had been drained away, replaced by a sputtering, nonsensical babble. He was afraid—possibly for the first time ever.
The four of us were shoved backward by officers, through that narrow hallway and out into the bookstore. The scene had transformed into pure pandemonium; sirens wailed, and London police filled the room, with paramedics tending to Peter and the guards. Like sleepwalkers with concrete around our ankles, we slipped out the door and onto a street rapidly filling with people.
“Henry,” I started, turning toward him, seeing his determined expression as he watched authorities fill the store. When he finally gave me a wide, joyous smile, I could only grip his shoulder and hope he understood how deeply I felt in that moment.