Page 38 of Deadly Legacy
Reuben’s breath caught. His fingers curled into his palms. Charlotte had never stood up to Wallace, had chosen him over their son when pushed to decide.
“Why would I trust you now?” Reuben asked, but his tone had softened imperceptibly.
Wallace produced a small black notebook. “Because I’ve documented every illegal transaction Dmitrii forced me into.Names, dates, account numbers. Enough to bring him down—or save myself.”
Reuben stared at the notebook, not reaching for it. The last time his father had offered him something, it had come with strings attached.
Always had.
“And you just happen to have this on you?” Reuben’s eyes narrowed. “Convenient.”
“I carry it everywhere.” Wallace’s hand trembled as he gripped the leather armrest. “It’s my insurance policy.”
Reuben studied Wallace’s face. The confident mask of the former financial titan had cracked, revealing something he’d never seen before...genuine fear.
Either his father had become a better actor in the years since they’d spoken, or Dmitrii had truly broken him.
Reuben took the notebook, weighing it in his hand along with his decision. The weight of it reinforced the gravity of their situation.
The notebook was heavier than it looked. Reuben ran his thumb along its spine, acutely aware of his father watching him handle what might be their only real leverage against Dmitrii.
“If you’re lying,” he said quietly, “it won’t be Dmitrii you need to worry about.”
Chapter 12
The notebook slipped from Reuben’s grip as the town car lurched into a narrow service tunnel, sliding across the polished leather seat between him and Wallace.
“They’re still behind us.” Reuben glanced at the man beside him—familiar silver hair, familiar profile, but a stranger’s panicked breathing. “How deep are you in with Dmitrii?”
Wallace loosened his tie with trembling fingers, the confident financial titan nowhere to be found. He twisted in his seat every few seconds to stare through the rear window. “Deep enough that if we don’t lose them in the next five minutes, we’re both dead men.”
The car slammed to a halt, throwing them forward against their seatbelts. The driver cursed as a delivery truck blocked their path ahead.
“I’m sorry, sir. We’re boxed in.” The driver’s voice shook. “There’s nowhere to—”
“We need to move. Now.” Wallace grabbed the notebook and shoved it inside Reuben’s jacket with the practiced efficiency of someone used to making demands of other people. “There’s a wine cellar entrance through that service door. If we can get to it, it connects to Grand Maison’s kitchen.”
“And I should trust you because?” Reuben’s fingers brushed against the notebook inside his jacket, its edges sharp against his skin. He analyzed Wallace’s expression, searching for any sign of deception.
“Because right now, I’m your only option.” Wallace’s voice carried that old authoritative tone from Reuben’s childhood.“Your security guys are down. Dmitrii’s men are right behind us. What’syourplan?”
The driver’s window shattered, sending glass shards across the car’s interior. Reuben reacted instantly, ducking low and shoving the door open. Wallace scrambled after him as gunfire peppered the car’s frame.
Reuben darted toward the service door, his body moving on instinct. Stepan’s voice echoed in his head:Low profile, quick steps, use cover.
The notebook pressed against Reuben’s ribs, each breath pushing it against the tender spot from yesterday’s training bruise.
Wallace fumbled with the wine cellar’s service door. The musty scent of old wood hit Reuben’s nostrils as he shoved his father aside and hit the door with his shoulder, breaking through into a dimly lit corridor stacked with wine crates.
“This way.” Wallace pointed toward a narrow passage between wooden shelves. His hands trembled as he straightened his suit jacket—the nervous tic so familiar it made Reuben’s stomach tighten.
Footsteps echoed behind them. Reuben grabbed Wallace’s arm and pulled him deeper into the cellar. They crouched behind a rack of dusty bottles, the cool dampness of the stone floor seeping through Reuben’s pants.
“Keep talking. What’s Dmitrii’s hooks into you?” Reuben kept his voice low, ears straining for sounds of pursuit.
Wallace’s face contorted. “My company was going under. Three big investments tanked all at once. I needed money fast.”
“So you went to Dmitrii? Seriously?” Reuben’s grip tightened on the wine rack.
