A different kind of pressure built inside me as I recalled the memory. Violent and dark. I’d waited for hours, worried something had happened when she hadn’t arrived for the visit. I’d had no way to contact her or Royce. No way to know if she’d been involved in a car accident on the drive down, or simply forgotten her promised visit. All my freedoms had been taken away, and the powerless sensation was the cruelest form of torture during my two years of incarceration.
“You knew, though?” she asked, relief streaking across her expression.
“One of the guards told me eventually.”
He’d bragged about it, hoping to provoke a rise out of me. Every person in the Norfolk prison thought they knew how much I was worth, and the guards often enjoyed flexing their power or reminding me of my lack of status while I was incarcerated.
What they didn’t understand was the amount of patience I was used to exercising. My situation was temporary, my time under their rule finite. I was built to outlast because my focus never wavered from the finish line.
But the woman in front of me was no longer my goal. She never should have been in the first place.
Marist subtly pulled her chin down to her chest. It was her ‘tell’ that she was considering something. Thoughts were weighed inside her mind, and it was obvious when she’d made her decision.
“How about we play now?” she asked. “If I win, Lucifer gets to stay.”
Satisfaction rolled through me at her offer. I thoroughly enjoyed playing chess, and winning, and it was even better when stakes were involved. We’d played nearly a hundred matches together, and by my count, Marist had bested me only five times.
This would be easy.
I didn’t give her an answer with words because it was unnecessary. She knew well enough I’d accept, and she followed me into the library where the mythology chess set I’d had commissioned for her was on display.
Also on display was the black cat, coiled in a ball on the back of the leather reading chair beside the fireplace. A patch of sunlight from the window lit the creature like a spotlight, but otherwise the room was dark. The animal didn’t lift its head when we entered the room, but its vivid green eyes opened and peered at us like we were intruding in its dominion.
Perhaps that was what bothered me so about the cat. It exuded an air of superiority, as if it tolerated my presence and it wasn’t the other way around. This was my house, and I was its master. Yes, one could argue it was just a simple animal and elitism was the general culture of cats, but this particular one seemed smart. Cunning. As if it had personally judged me and found me unworthy.
I turned on the lamp on the desk, making light spill across the spines of the books my family had been collecting for a century, and watched as Marist strolled to the chair. She set her fingertips on the top of the cat’s head and ran them down along its back, causing the animal to stretch out its legs in contentment.
Bare patches of skin dotted the cat’s usually glossy black fur, and I didn’t care for the way that looked. Even if the thing was irritating, I could recognize it had been a beautiful creature. This version of it made a foreign sensation creep through me. Dissatisfaction?
It grew worse as Marist continued petting the animal and gazed down at it with a smile tilting on her lips. It was a look she’d never given me. One that spoke about how much she loved the animal.
She’d brought it to my house hoping to ease its distress, willing to put its happiness above her own. When was the last time I’d done that?
Not since Julia died.
My wife’s sudden death had taught me how fleeting life could be, and I realized I was in charge of my own happiness. Whatever I wanted, I’d reach for it, and take it by force if necessary. But my ambition had come with side effects and collateral damage.
It was time to reevaluate my goals.
I strode to the side table, retrieved the chess set, and carried it to the desk, depositing it there with a quiet thud while Marist continued to dote on her pet. The cat’s purr swelled when she scratched its cheek, and I convinced myself the sound was irritating and not at all pleasing.
I snatched up two pawns, one white and one black, and exchanged them in my hands behind my back. “Choose,” I said.
She lifted her gaze to mine, and although she tried to hide it from me, it was obvious how badly she wanted to win the game. It made me uneasy as I considered that outcome. I excelled at many things, but the one thing I hadn’t mastered was losing with grace. I thrived on competition, and it wasn’t in my nature to give up.
I had on her, hadn’t I?
Marist’s attention left the cat and focused solely on me as she walked toward the board. “Left.”
I extended my closed left hand to her, turned my palm up, and peeled back my fingers to reveal the white pawn shaped as a satyr. The half-man, half-goat figure was carved from marble, and I was pleased with the weight of the piece. The chess set we’d played with the last time was cheap acrylic.
Everything about this game was a higher quality and far more exciting.
She gingerly took the pawn from my hand as if minimizing the risk of touching me, and a sinister voice deep inside my mind whispered to make her do it. Instead, I ignored the voice. We put our pawns on their squares and took our seats across from each other, separated by rows of mythic Greek figures recreated as chess pieces.
As white, she had the advantage of the first move, and she made it confidently. The timid chess player she’d once been in this room was gone, forgotten. I’d taught her well, and Marist had become a formidable opponent.
We were both contemplative in our openings and didn’t talk, but as we moved into the middlegame, my competitive nature got the better of me. I looked for ways to distract.
“You’re right,” I said. “The cat doesn’t look well.”
“No. He’s by himself all day.” Marist’s gaze trapped mine, weighing me down with her meaning. “He’s lonely. I think it’ll do him some good to have companionship.”
My nostrils flared, and I tightened my eyes with displeasure at her subtext. I wasn’t lonely, and even if I were, who was to blame? Everyone had left me. “You’re speaking about the cat,” I said pointedly.
She acted like she hadn’t implied otherwise. “Yes.”
Marist had claimed I gave her too much credit, but the opposite was true. I’d spent years underestimating her. Even now, I’d tried to distract, and she’d reversed it onto me masterfully. I clenched my teeth as she captured one of my rooks, catching me off guard.
That should never have happened. Pay attention.
Sometimes, one mistake was all it took to lose everything.
Thankfully, I was able to get back on track after a few turns, and her eyebrows pulled together in dismay as I took her bishop. She recovered quickly and squared her shoulders, pretending I hadn’t undone all the plans she’d made.
It was impossible to tell if she were making conversation, or if there was an agenda buried in her question. “Are you ready for this weekend?”
Confidence ran through my words. “Of course.”
I’d invited HBHC’s board of directors and their spouses to my home for a morning of skeet shooting on the grounds, followed by a luncheon where I’d announce my return to headquarters.
Immediately after the events of Alice’s death, I’d stepped back from the company and put as much distance as possible between us. But I was still the president and the chief shareholder of Hale Banking and Holding, and I would resume working at headquarters, offering my guidance and expertise in a management role.