Page 11 of Deadly Legacy
She settled more comfortably into her chair, adjusting the sleeve of her cashmere sweater. “I ran into your mother at the Metropolitan Museum’s benefit last month. I approached her to say hello, as we were seated at adjacent tables.”
“Let me guess,” Reuben said, moving a chess piece for Samuil to study. “She looked right through you despite having met you three times before.”
Natalia smiled with a practiced grace that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “She remembered me as ‘that Russian woman’ and asked if I was enjoying American culture. Then excused herself when the Vandermeres waved her over.”
“The Matvei name opens some doors,” Natalia continued, “but certain circles remain... selective. Your mother has mastered that particular dance.”
Reuben absently straightened one of Samuil’s knights on the chessboard. He learned that reality all too well recently—Matvei money could get you through any door in the city’s high society, but it couldn’t buy you an invite. The family had learned this lesson over years of strategic philanthropy and calculated appearances.
“A political campaign contribution here and there,” Reuben murmured, thinking of Alexei’s meticulous financial maneuvering, “that’s enough to build up some clout in the city to be noticed.”
“And despised,” Natalia added with a small, knowing smile, “by the old money circles in equal measure.” Her fingers traced the rim of her teacup. “They’ll take our donations, but keep us at arm’s length. Your mother doesn’t appear to have that problem.”
Reuben nodded, unsurprised. “Charlotte’s greatest skill is knowing exactly whose hand to shake and whose to avoid for maximum social advantage.”
Since establishing Matthew Capital, Reuben had occasionally heard mentions of his parents in financial circles, though neither had attempted to contact him. Their continued silence, despite his professional resurgence, spoke volumes.
“The interesting thing is,” Natalia said, pouring more tea, “I’ve been seeing your father at these functions as well.”
“Wallace attending charity galas?” Reuben paused, knight in hand. “That’s unlike him.”
“Your father has been unusually visible lately—hosting dinners, making appearances at charity events, very public displays of confidence.”
Reuben’s fingers fiddled with the chess piece. “That’s strange. He always preferred working behind the scenes.”
“Three events in just the past week,” Natalia continued, stirring honey into her tea. “The Children’s Hospital Gala, the Symphony fundraiser, and a private dinner at Astor’s with the mayor.”
“Is Uncle Reuben’s papa coming to visit?” Samuil asked innocently, looking up from arranging his pawns.
Reuben drew a careful breath as Natalia answered with the poise of a diplomat. “No, sweetheart. They work in different companies.”
“Like competitors?” Samuil’s brow furrowed. “Like in chess?”
“Exactly like chess,” Reuben agreed, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Speaking of which, are you ready to learn the Ruy Lopez?”
“The Ruy Lopez opening appears straightforward,” Reuben explained once the board was ready, moving his bishop to target Samuil’s knight. “But it creates pressure that intensifies throughout the game.”
Samuil’s small face scrunched in concentration. “Like when Daddy talks to people who owe him money?”
Reuben suppressed a smile. “Something like that.”
An hour later, after Natalia had taken Samuil upstairs for bedtime, Reuben asked if he could make a private call. Natalia directed him to use Grigorii’s wood-paneled study, assuring him her husband wouldn’t mind. The heavy door sealed the room behind him as he pulled out his phone.
“Jacob? It’s Reuben.” He spoke to Matthew Capital’s senior research analyst, a meticulous data specialist working for the firm.
Jacob Reynolds had quickly built a reputation at Matthew Capital for finding obscure connections that others missed—exactly the skill Reuben needed right now. “I need everything you can find on Wallace Hoyt’s social calendar for the past month.” He paced the thick carpet, mind racing. “Focus on who he’s meeting, especially anyone connected to city permits or surveillance contracts.”
He paused by the window, looking out at the manicured grounds now veiled in darkness. “I think he’s crafting a public narrative. Forging connections he can use when this escalates beyond business.” Another pause as he listened to Jacob’s response. “Yes, exactly. And check his campaign contributions too—anyone running for office or heading regulatory committees.”
As he ended the call, Reuben’s mind sharpened with the same intensity that had once served him at high-stakes poker tables. His father had dealt the first card in what would become an intricate game of strategy and bluff. Poker had taught Reuben patience—the ability to read tells, to see beyond the immediate hand to the long game that would follow.
Wallace might have opened this round, but Reuben intended to rake in the pot.
Chapter 4
Dusk crept through Grigorii’s study, lamp light pooling across the antique desk as Nikon studied his brother’s face.
The eldest Matvei rarely showed concern, but now his brow furrowed as he examined the surveillance photos.
