The Inheritances Game (Jameson Hawthorne)

Meeting Rohan.. Again

That's not silver, Jameson realized up close. It's platinum. "Satisfied?" the messenger asked with an arch of a thick and angled brow. He didn't wait for an answer; instead, he returned his gaze to Catalina. "One week, all access." He picked up his wineglass and swirled the red liquid inside it again. "And all it will cost you t two hundred thousand pounds." 

She set her jaw. "It has to be both of us." 

"It doesn't hav to be anything, love." There was a note of warning in the response she received. "Do you know how rare what you're being offered is? How many men would kill for it?" 

"That begs a question, doesn't it?" Jameson tossed out. 

"Not the correct usage of that phrase" came the arch reply, "but do go on." 

Jameson's eyes narrowed. "I'm guessing the Proprietor of the Devil's Mercy isn't hard up for cash. So why offer Catalina anything for a measly two hundred thousand?" 

"You misunderstand." The messenger's voice went low and silky. "It's not a fee. The levy to join the Devil's Mercy is much steeper. But you"—he swung his gaze back around to Catalina-"won't be joining or paying the levy. You'll be a visitor, and the Factotum wants you playing at the tables." There was a calculated pause. "He wants you to lose." 

"The Factotum." Jameson latched on to the title. "Not the Proprietor." 

"I'm afraid you don't rise to the level of meriting the attention of the Proprietor. The Factotum is his second-in-command He runs much of the Mercy, day to day." 

"He's the one you report to?" Catalina said. "The one," Jameson added, "who wants us to lose." 

"Wants her to"" the messenger corrected. "However, the Factotum anticipated your request regarding Mr. Hawthorne. If you want your very temporary visiting membership status extended to a second party, it's going to cost you. Five hundred thousand pounds lost on the tables at the Mercy over the course of three nights." 

That was the kind of number that even Jameson couldn't shrug off. "Why would she agree to that?" 

The chameleon smiled. "Why indeed?" I know, that tone said, that you want more than you've asked for. I know that you have ulterior motives. I know you aren't showing your hand. 

"You said I have to lose the money in three days," Cal noted. She spoke slowly, but Jameson could see her mind moving fast. "But we'd have access to the Devil's Mercy for a week." Jameson heard what she was really saying, what she'd realized. "We can win it back." That statement received no pushback, no correction, and Jameson ran the scenario out in his head. Get in. Lose money. Win it back. Gain the Proprietor's attention-and an invitation to the game. 

"What's in it for the Factotum?" Jameson had been raised to ask the right questions. 

"I wouldn't know." 

Jameson looked for a tell of some kind on his quarry's face and saw nothing.

"But if I were speculating," the messenger continued lightly, "I'd say that the Factotum is on the hunt." 

"The hunt for what?" Catalina asked. 

"A new member," Jameson guessed, daring their visitor to tell him that he was wrong. "Remember what Ian said?" The conclusion wasn't much of a leap. 

"A brash, overconfident little girl." Catalina's eyes narrowed. "What happens if we need more than a week?" 

"Need is an interesting choice of word." The messenger let that observation hang in the air, then he nodded to the platinum-marked envelope. "Inside, you'll find a nondisclosure agreement. You'll want to sign it. He reached into his trench coat again and withdrew a pen. Like the envelope, it appeared to be made of platinum. Its surface was ornately engraved, the design as incomprehensible to Jameson as hieroglyphics. 

Cal opened the envelope. She read the document inside. single page. "This just covers the nondisclosure. What about the rest of the terms?" 

"Five hundred thousand pounds lost on the tables over the course of three nights, in exchange for one week's access. Those are the terms, on your honor—and his." 

His. There was emphasis on that word, like the Factotum was as much larger-in-life to his errand boy as Tobias Hawthorne had been to his grandsons. If the Factotum demands that kind of respect... exactly how powerful is the Proprietor? 

Jameson opted to shelve that question and ask a different one. "Do you have a name?" 

"Rohan." There was something sharp and knowing on his face as he spoke. "Not that it matters." 

"Well, Rohan," Catalina said, "you can tell your boss he has a deal." She picked up the pen and signed. 

Rohan shifted his gaze to Jameson. "You'll be signing, too, if you want to play." 

Catalina slipped the pen into Jameson's hand. He turned it in his fingers, taking in every element of the design, committing it to memory. 

And then he signed.

Twelve hours after they signer the NDA another black envelope showed up at the flat. This one featured only a single thread of shining platinum, encircling a black wax seal. The design imprinted on the wax was familiar. A triangle inside a circle inside a square. Jameson ran his thumb over the contours, his brain rotating the shapes, disassembling them, reassembling them. He broke the seal and opened the envelop to find an invitation -- also black, with silver script. Affixed to the bottom of the card, there was a small but ornate key.

Jameson skimmed the instructions and plucked the gold key from the card, then turned to Cal with an electric smile spreading over his face. "It appears we're headed to the opera."