Page 90 of A Mistake of Worth
“That’s bullshit,” Jean snapped, pushing away from Lucas to sit forward. “Marc’s been using me as leverage against Henri for years. I deserve to know...”
“You deserve to stay safe,” Ellis interrupted, rising and reaching for Jean’s arm with the patience of someone who’d learned to de-escalate volatile situations. “Come on.”
Jean dug in, his jaw set with Saint-Clair stubbornness. “I have a right to...”
“You have a right to stay sane,” Ellis said firmly, wrapping his fingers around Jean’s wrist. “And we have a right not to worry about you doing something reckless with information you shouldn’t have.”
Lucas’s hand settled on Jean’s lower back, a gentle but unmistakable claim. “Go with Ellis, baby. Let us handle the ugly parts.”
For a moment, Jean looked ready to explode. His face flushed, hands clenching into fists. Years of being dismissed and infantilized condensed into visible rage.
“I’m not a child!” Jean’s voice cracked with frustration. “I’m eighteen, I’m not made of glass, and I’m sick of everyone treating me as though...”
He grabbed a crystal paperweight from the side table and hurled it at the fireplace. It shattered against the brick with a sound that made everyone flinch, sending sharp fragments skittering across the hardwood floor.
The room went deadly quiet.
Lucas was moving before the echo faded, pulling Jean against his chest with practiced ease. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, soothing register. “I know you’re frustrated. I know you want to help.”
Jean’s breath hitched, anger dissolving into something more fragile. “Everyone always protects me. But who protects Henri? Who protected him when we were kids and Marc was...” His voice broke entirely.
“We’re going to,” Lucas said quietly, his hand stroking through Jean’s hair with care. “But not if you’re in the room hearing things that will give you nightmares.”
Jean buried his face against Lucas’s shoulder, the fight going out of him all at once. Lucas murmured something too quiet to hear, then guided him toward the door with the kind of total attention that made it clear Jean was the center of his universe.
At the doorway, Jean threw one last glare over his shoulder, the gauzy tails of his top fluttering with the movement. “You’d better bring him home.”
The raw protectiveness in Jean’s voice hit Michael hard. This wasn’t just familial concern. This was someone who’d witnessed Henri’s suffering firsthand, someone who understood exactly what Marc was capable of.
Ellis followed them out, pausing only to squeeze Gabriel’s shoulder in silent support.
Once they were gone, Nikolai glanced at the scattered crystal fragments and shrugged. “It was ugly anyway.”
Gabriel huffed, looking mildly offended. “That was my great-great-great...” He paused, waving his hand dismissively. “Oh, hell, some ancestor’s. It’s an antique.” But his attention was already moving past the broken paperweight, clearly more concerned about the people in his house than the objects.
Alain took a long sip of wine and smirked faintly. “Trust me,” he murmured to Michael. “You don’t want him in on this. Kid’s got a good heart, but he’d probably try to storm Marc’s penthouse with a kitchen knife.”
“Jesus,” Michael breathed. “How long has Henri been protecting everyone else?”
Gabriel’s face went ashen, guilt radiating from him. “All his life,” he said, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Twenty fucking years, and I should have seen it sooner. I was so busy being the golden child, the perfect heir, building Father’s empire, that I let my little brother sacrifice himself.”
Gabriel moved to the dining table, where Nikolai had already begun pulling up files. The laptop screen filled with a maze of corporate structures, shell companies, and transaction flows that Michael recognized immediately. He’d seen similar setups in his own consulting work. Layers of legal obfuscation designed to hide money trails from regulators and competitors.
“Everything we’ve dug up so far,” Gabriel said, settling into his chair. “Nika’s contact in Financial Crimes confirmed it. Every dirty transaction we can trace points to Olivier Saint-Clair.”
Michael glanced at the man behind the laptop. “Nika?”
Nikolai didn’t look up from his screen. “I have a sister.”
Michael waited for more. Nothing came. He looked at Gabriel, who was suddenly very interested in his own laptop. Alain took a long sip of wine, his expression carefully neutral.
Right. The intimidating Russian man with financial crimes contacts wanted to go by Nika because of his sister, and everyone in this room had apparently learned not to ask follow-up questions.
Michael cleared his throat. “Okay then.”
Nika’s fingers flew over the keyboard, bringing up a web of shell companies with names bland enough to be invisible. Meridian Holdings, Pacific Logistics Solutions, Gateway Strategic Partners. “These feed into accounts tied to Don Haldeman. South African national, known trafficker. He moves product, human and otherwise, through Porte du Coeur with the help of local gang networks.”
Michael leaned forward, studying the branching lines of financial connections. “What’s the volume?”
