The vibration of the phone against Xavier's thigh felt like a sharp sting.
He was standing in the corridor outside Julian's study.
His lungs were finally drawing steady air.
The five million dollars was moving through the digital ether.
A tidal wave of capital.
It could build his throne.
Or drown him.
He pulled the phone out.
A private number was flashing.
"Ren," the voice growled.
It wasn't the System's melodic chime.
It was gravel. Grinding together.
The Butcher.
"My name is Xavier," Ren whispered.
His eyes darted to the security cameras nestled in the crown molding of the hallway.
"And I already sent the payment. Check your ledger."
"I saw the half-million, kid.
It hit my account five minutes ago," the Butcher said.
Xavier could hear the wet thud of a meat cleaver hitting a wooden block in the background.
"That's the problem.
You've been in that gold-plated cage for less than twenty-four hours.
No 'rat' from the slums pulls half a million out of thin air that fast unless they're stealing from the wrong people."
"I'm not stealing," Xavier said.
His voice dropped an octave.
Cold. Clipped.
The Valerius persona.
"I'm investing. The money is clean.
Your interest is paid.
We're done for the month."
"We aren't done until I say so," the Butcher spat.
"I'm at the South Gate.
The guards here don't like my jacket.
They're asking for my 'visitor's pass.'
If I don't see your face in ten minutes, I'm going to tell them I'm here to deliver a message to a boy named Ren who's playing dress-up."
The line went dead.
[ SYSTEM WARNING! ]
[ THREAT LEVEL: CRITICAL ]
[ EXTERNAL VARIABLE DETECTED: THE BUTCHER ]
[ RISK: EXPOSURE OF ORIGINAL IDENTITY ]
Xavier felt a surge of cold fury.
He had played the perfect game with Julian Thorne.
But his past was a ball and chain dragging behind him.
If the Butcher made a scene at the gate, the "Audit" Silas Vane was conducting would be the least of his worries.
He didn't run.
Running was for the guilty.
He walked.
Through the marble foyer.
Past groups of heirs still whispering about the "Lee Electronics" collapse.
He ignored them all.
His face a mask of bored aristocratic indifference.
He stepped out into the humid afternoon air.
Signaled for one of the Academy's electric shuttles.
"The South Gate," Xavier told the driver.
"And move quickly.
I have a… 'delivery' waiting."