“How’s he doing?”
“Why don’t you just call and ask yourself?” Alessia shot Max a look of exasperation.
Max didn’t respond, retreating into his usual silence.
Both brothers were the same. Even yesterday, York kept ncing at his phone, terrified he’d miss a message from that certain someone.
But, as usual, that person stayed stubbornly silent–not a single message hade through.
Alessia, caught in the middle of it all, didn’t realize she was just as bad.
“He’s eating, drinking, even joking around. Sure, he’s not a hundred percent, but for now, rest is all he can do.” Alessia finally gave in and exined York’s situation.
They drove the rest of the way in silence, until the car rolled to a stop outside Quincy Manor. The gates were wide open, so they skipped any pretense of courtesy and walked straight in.
Every morning, the old man liked to sit in the backyard with a cup of tea, listening to ssical music. Following the haunting notes, they found Hamilton recliningfortably, humming along, lookingpletely at ease–without a hint of remorse or guilt.
“Mr. Tate, Miss Morton, dropping by unannounced–don’t you think that’s a bit improper?” The butler, having been alerted by the security cameras, hurried over to block their path.
“Well, who would’ve guessed the Quincy family cared about manners?” Alessia feigned surprise.
The butler was at a loss for words, clearly aware of what had happened the day before.
“The Quincy family always wees guests,” he said stiffly, “but tradition
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is tradition. No matter your status, you’re still the younger generation. Proper etiquette mustn’t be neglected.”
“Is that so? Then I’d trouble you to pass this on to Hamilton–as an elder, he should appreciate proper procedure. And perhaps remind him to make an appointment next time. The younger generation’s been rather busytely; I’m afraid he’ll have to wait a while.” Alessia’s words were sharp, but Max only smirked, his eyes glinting with a quiet challenge as he
handed the butler a file.
He gave Alessia a gentle tap on the back of her head.
She caught on instantly, arching a brow as she followed Max out of the Quincy estate.
The ease with which the two left made the butler uneasy. Things were never that simple with them.
“They left?” Hamilton called out, still sprawled on his chaise lounge, idly cracking pistachios and humming to himself.
“They’re gone,” the butler replied.
“Hmph. I thought they’d have more backbone.” Hamilton’s voice brimmed with smugness.
He might have been outmaneuvered at the school, but in his own home? He’d been running the Quincy family long before those two brats were even born. Did they really think they couldpete with him? Howughable.
With a snort, he caught sight of the folder in the butler’s hands.
“What’s that?”
Only then did the butler remember the file. He handed it over. “Mr. Tate asked me to pass this to you.”
Hamilton sneered. “What could a wet–behind–the–ears kid possibly have to show me?”
He barely spared Max a thought, but curiosity got the better of him. He
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tore open the folder.
At first, he just skimmed the pages, but his expression changed almost instantly. He sat up, suddenly tense, eyes scanning every line. The more he read, the faster he turned the pages, until the papers were practically flying.
When he reached thest page, Hamilton flung the folder across the room as if it were contaminated.
The butler kept his head bowed, lips pressed tightly together. He didn’t know what was in those documents, but the fury radiating from Hamilton was palpable.
“Did he say anything else?” Hamilton demanded, his voice now edged with desperation.
“He only asked me to give this to you. And, well…” The butler hesitated.
“Well what?” Hamilton snapped.
“He said you should make an appointment next time. He’s… he’s rather busytely, so you–being the elder–might have to wait.”
Hamilton’s face darkened, thunderous with rage.
“Get the car. We’re going to the Tate estate. Now!”
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