Unseen

Chapter 13

When Yvette's father had wanted to meet with one of his people one-on-one, he had brought them to his office. When he needed to meet with all the most important figures in his organization at once, he used the conference room.

The room was as vast as a ballroom, with a high arched ceiling and glittering lights that filled the room with odd shadows. Behind her father's chair—Yvette's chair, now—hung three oil portraits. One of her father looking stern and regal. One of her mother, who had died before Yvette's first birthday. And one of Yvette, eight years old, smiling demurely and wearing a dress that was all froth and frills.

The room was dominated by a massive wooden table that had as many exactly as many chairs as there were attendees. Or it had when her father was alive. This time, some of the chairs were empty. Yvette could have had the empty chairs removed before the meeting. It was what her father always did, if someone passed away or was simply going to be absent. She hadn't.

She wanted the empty seats to send a message.

They had been at this for an hour now, and Yvette still wasn't sure the message had been received.

She wanted a cup of coffee. She wanted a fifteen-minute break, preferably one where she curled up on the rug of her father's office like an old tired dog and took a nap. She asked for neither. The others were all as tired as she was, and none of them had said a word about it. She would not break first.

"It's a simple question," she said, her voice crisp and clear despite her exhaustion. "I'm surprised not a single one of you can answer it, considering you were my father's most capable lieutenants. I just want to know how to make these numbers line up."

Armin Tehrani, a rotund man with a graying mustache, cleared his throat. "I did mention my shipment that was hijacked by a local bunch of would-be entrepreneurs. I'm still deciding on the proper method of retribution."

"That's for me to decide," Yvette reminded him. "And I know what was in that shipment. I know how much it was worth. It was not the anything close to the missing amount."

Donovan Donnellan, who had a deceptively kind face, offered her a barbed smile. "If you're having trouble with the finances, I'm sure you can find someone to help. I would be happy to offer my services."

An hour ago, she might have returned his smile out of her own and said she would think about it. Now she met his gaze with narrowed eyes and an unsmiling mouth. "I'm better with numbers than my father ever was," she said, "let alone any of you. And you all know it."

A ripple of unease spread down the table. Maybe this was the kind of thing Reynold had meant when he had said she didn't know how to talk to people.

Or maybe they just all knew she was right.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Reynold stepped out of the shadows behind her chair. "Perhaps it's time to wrap things up for the night," he suggested gently. "Before things get any more heated."

Yvette shot him a look. He could give her advice in private all he wanted, although she couldn't promise to take it. But the more help he offered in meetings like this, the more the others would think she was incapable.

Just like Reynold thought she was incapable.

"Reynold may be right," Donnellan said. "I can see how tired you are. And no wonder, with you trying to handle all of this alone."

"No," Yvette said, to him and to Reynold. "We're working this out tonight."

She could sense Reynold's disapproval. What did he want from her? He had told her to try to find a way to resolve these issues besides sending Violet after her enemies. This was her trying to do that.