Page 7 of Prodigal

“Has?” Joseph Morrow got to his feet and stepped toward Gideon. Samir tensed, but Gideon held him off with a slightshake of his head. “Did he say you already have control of the purse strings?”

Gideon grinned. “He did, and yes, I do.” Lifting an eyebrow, Gideon said, “I hope that’s not gonna be a problem for you?”

Morrow stared at him, visibly struggling to maintain his composure. “You’re an imposter. And the sooner we prove it, the sooner we can kill you and send your body back to wherever you came from.”

“You already tried to kill me, Joseph.” Gideon glanced around, speaking to all of them when he said, “You couldn’t do it before. You’ll find it even more difficult this time, seeing as I’m more than capable of fighting back. Besides”—he turned toward the door—“it’s against the rules to kill a member of The Council, isn’t it?”

“You’re not a member of The Council,” Prislaya Chopra spoke up from behind him.

Gideon chuckled. “Says who?” He didn’t look back, allowing Samir, Will, and Kaleb to encircle and lead him out the back of the building and into the waiting SUV.

Once settled inside the vehicle, Gideon unbuttoned his jacket and sat back, waiting until they were a few minutes into the ride to speak. “Send it.”

Seated in front of him, Marco tapped away on his tablet and then said, “It’s been sent.”

A heaviness settled around them at those three words and what they really meant. Gideon exhaled. Just like that, his days of living in hiding, of anonymity, were over. Marco had just sent an alert out that the long-lost Winters heir was home, stepping into his now-dead father’s role as head of the billion-dollar Winters media conglomerate. There would be obligatory shit he’d have to do as part of stepping back into the light and as head of an international corporation. All that was surface shit. He wouldn’t be focusing his energies on the business. No, heand his father already had someone picked out who’d be running things behind the scenes while Gideon remained the public face so as not to arouse any suspicion. All of his focus would be on unveiling the traitor or traitors inside The Council. Nothing was more important.

“G.”

He glanced at Samir, who sat at his side.

“Are you ready for this?” Gideon opened his mouth, but Samir continued. “Not The Council shit. I know you’ve been ready for that.” His dark eyes bored into Gideon. “I’m talking about the scrutiny that comes with stepping into the public role of being your father’s son. You never really got to experience it before you had to go into hiding. There will be questions. Everybody wanting a piece of you. Shit’s gonna get crazy for a while.”

Gideon knew that, but he wasn’t fazed by any of it. “We control as much as we can.” He lifted a shoulder. “The rest will work itself out.”

As a result of Gideon coming out of the shadows, people who were privy to such knowledge would immediately know he was now on The Council. They’d be coming to him, because as much as the other members of The Council wanted to pretend otherwise, the Winters’s word, the Winters’s approval, the Winters’s influence was the one that carried the most weight.

They’d be coming in droves to curry favor.

Gideon didn’t care about anything except getting revenge for himself and his family. Fuck anything else. He’d do whatever needed to be done. His father had taught him that—do whatever you had to for the family, to protect the family. His blood family was gone now. He was the only one standing, and that made him an even bigger target in some respects. Kill the heir and the empire would come tumbling down.

But he wouldn’t make it easy.

They’d have to put in work if they wanted his throne.

4

Samir had warnedGideon that shit would get crazy. He should have listened. Every day since the public found out he’d returned from the dead (thanks to Gideon himself), there were no less than fifty reporters following him whenever he made a public appearance.

And he’d had to make a lot of public appearances, something that irked him.

He blew out a loud breath as he sank into a chair—his father’s chair, in his father’s office—yanking on his tie. Samir stood just inside the doorway, watching him but not saying anything. They’d just battled their way through the thickest throng of reporters yet on their way into the Winters’s building, and damn it, Gideon missed anonymity.

They had a private—secret—entrance and exit from the building, but the public needed to see him coming and going from the company. For now at least. He was ready for all the pretend shit to be over.

“How much longer do we have to keep this up?” he asked Samir as if he didn’t know.

“Not much longer.” His friend’s lips quirked.

Gideon rolled his eyes, then glanced at his watch. “Where are they?” He was about to give his one and only sit-down interview, and it hadn’t even started yet, but already he hated it. Again, this was part of the plan he and his father had constructed, so he’d follow it to the letter. They’d chosen an unknown reporter from a small online publication, instead of going with the usual high profile TV people. Every decision he made, every action he took, from the moment his father took his last breath, was for a specific reason.

“They’re bringing her up now,” Samir told him, touching a finger to his ear. “In the elevator.”

That was Gideon’s cue. He got to his feet and strode past Samir out to the elevator, where he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, waiting. The top floor of the Winters’s building housed his father’s private offices, his assistant and receptionist offices, as well as two conference rooms—one large and the other much smaller. The floor itself could only be accessed via a private elevator. There was another, separate elevator that went directly to and from the office by way of that secret entrance and could only be used with a code, one only Gideon and his team possessed.

The elevator dinged, its doors sliding open. Inside, Will and Kaleb hung back as the reporter stepped out first. Ree Spencer’s height barely came up to Gideon’s chest. Half Korean, half Irish, she was a stunner with chin-length dark hair and a heart-shaped face. She stood in front of him with a small smile, head cocked. She’d been twelve the last time he’d seen her, with big brown eyes, skinny, awkward limbs, and glasses that kept sliding down her button nose. She wasn’t wearing glasses now, and the innocence she’d had back then was long gone. He understood all too well that life had a way of stripping you down, leaving you with only what was absolutely necessary.

Innocence wasn’t one of those things that made the cut.

---