Page 75 of Royally Romanov
His voice dripped with sarcasm. Maxim was right. The break-in didn’t have anything to do with his grandmother’s bracelet. Or the photograph of her as a little girl. Gregory had been looking for the notebook so Maxim wouldn’t find it and figure out what they’d been planning.
Too late.
“I’m calling the police.” Maxim reached into his pocket for his cell phone.
Gregory laughed. “Go ahead. I’m sure they’d be interested to hear all about how you planned to make Finley Abbot and the rest of the staff of the Louvre believe you’re a Romanov, especially since you and Mademoiselle Abbot have become soclosein recent days.”
Maxim nearly punched him in the face.
The acid in Gregory’s tone made it sound like Maxim’s relationship with Finley was something dirty and wrong. Like he was trying to take advantage of her.
Which was exactly what Detective Durand would believe once Gregory showed him the folder. Who knew what other evidence Gregory had stored away somewhere in his office?
Maxim squeezed his eyes shut and conjured the memory of the way his own desk had looked when he’d stopped by the bank’s offices. It had been piled with old files and papers.
Now he knew why.
Once Gregory had heard about Maxim’s amnesia, he’d removed all evidence of their con and replaced it with documents that looked like legitimate bank business. Who knew what additional proof he had linking Maxim to his plan?
Whatever it was, thedétectivewould probably be ready and willing to believe Maxim’s intentions had been malicious.
Because they had.
His worst fears had been confirmed. He wasn’t a royal. He was a thief. A thief who’d planned on using Finley to steal millions worth of artwork from the Louvre.
He hurled the file folder at Gregory. If he looked at it for another second, he’d vomit.
Maxim bent over, planted his hands on his knees, and concentrated very hard on not spilling the contents of his stomach onto the cobblestones underfoot. “Why are you here, Gregory? What do you want?”
“What do you think I want?” Gregory moved closer. Close enough to mutter directly into Maxim’s ear. “I want my half. You don’t think I actually fell for your little virtuous act two weeks ago, do you? You’re setting her up to believe you’re a Romanov, just as we planned. Once she believes you, you’ll make a claim under the Century Rule with her full support. I won’t let you cut me out. You owe me.”
His breath was sticky and hot on Maxim’s neck. Maxim squeezed his eyes closed and tried not to retch. He took deep breaths in and out through his nose.
When he opened his eyes, he was still bent over with his hands planted on his knees. He could see coins scattered over the star in the center of the Point Zero marker, just like he’d remembered in the hospital. And he could see shoes... the same shoes he’d seen the night of his attack. Berluti loafers... smoky walnut-hued leather.
All this time, he’d thought they belonged to him.
They didn’t.
They were Gregory’s.
He forced himself into a standing position and shoved Gregory hard in the chest. “It was you.”
Gregory stumbled backwards. The file folder fell to the ground, sending its contents scattering in the wind.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gregory said as he bent to scramble after the papers.
Maxim ignored the mess and loomed over Gregory. His fists clenched at his sides. As much as he loathed admitting it, he was tempted to hit Gregory. He’d been Maxim’s friend. His business partner.
And he’d nearly killed him over a con gone wrong.
Maxim’s gaze snagged on one of the papers on the ground—the newspaper article with Finley’s picture situated just beneath the headline. Something inside him shifted—a memory—slowly coming into razor-sharp focus.
Get close to her, and you’ll get close to the treasure.
Shame coursed through Maxim, heavy and vile. But then another piece of the puzzle fell clearly into place.
I won’t do it, Gregory. This isn’t what I signed up for. I’m out.
