Money, Power, Glory [Grayson Hawthorne]

I

I recommend to listen to Melanie Martinez's song Carousel (slowed and instrumental) while reading, mostly because I believe it matches the vibes of true chapter  and because I write the chapter with it playing so it matched the vibes I was going for.

Avery :

The foyer was bigger than some houses, easily  a thousand square feet, like the person who had built it was afraid that the entryway might have to double as a place to host balls. Stone archways lined the foyer on either side, and the room stretched up two stories to an ornate ceiling, elaborately carved from wood. Even just looking up took my breath away. "You've arrived." A familiar voice drew my attention back down to earth. "And right on time. I trust there were no problems with your flight?" Grayson Hawthorne was wearing a different suit now.

This one was black—and so were his shirt and his tie.
"You." Alisa greeted him with a steely-eyed look.
"I take it I'm not forgiven for interfering?" Grayson asked.
"You're twenty," Alisa retorted. "Would it kill you to act like it?"
"It might." Grayson flashed his teeth in a smile. "And you're welcome."
It took me a second to realize that by interfering, Grayson meant coming to fetch me. "Ladies," he said, "may I take your coats?"
"I'll keep mine," I replied, feeling contrary—and like an extra layer between me and the rest of the world couldn't hurt.

"And yours?" Grayson asked Libby smoothly.
Still agog at the foyer, Libby shed her coat and handed it to him. Grayson walked underneath one of the stone arches. On the other side, there was a corridor. Small square panels lined the wall. Grayson laid a hand on one panel and pushed. He turned his hand ninety degrees, pushed in the next panel, and then, in a motion too fast for me to decode, hit at least two others. I heard a pop, and a door appeared, separating itself from the rest of the wall as it swung open.

"What the..." I started to say.
Grayson reached in and pulled out a hanger. "Coat closet." That wasn't an explanation. It was a label, like this was any old coat closet in any old house.

Alisa took that as her cue to leave us in Grayson's capable hands, and I tried to summon up a response that wasn't just standing there with my mouth open like a fish. Grayson went to close the closet, but a sound from deep within stopped him.

I heard a creak, then a bam. There was a shuffling sound back behind the coats, and then a figure in shadow pushed through them and stepped out into the light. A boy, maybe my age, maybe a little younger and a girl, no woman looked to be around Grayson's age. He was wearing a suit, but that was where the similarities with Grayson ended and she was wearing a black skintight dress with black heels. The boy's suit was rumpled, like he'd taken a nap in it—or twenty. The jacket wasn't buttoned. The tie lying around his neck wasn't tied. He was tall but had a baby face—and a mop of dark, curly hair. His eyes were light brown and so was his skin.

Her dress was wrinkled, her makeup look perfect and only a few strands of hair out of place. Her black curly hair was let loose over her shoulders. A big diamond necklace graced her neck.
"Am I late?" he asked Grayson.
"One might suggest that you direct that query toward your watch."
"Is Jameson here yet?" the dark-haired boy amended his question.

Grayson stiffened. "No."
The other boy grinned. "Then I'm not late!"

He looked past Grayson, to Libby and me. The woman stifled a laugh at the boy's words.

"And these must be our guests! How rude of Grayson not to introduce us."

A muscle in Grayson's jaw twitched.
"Avery Grambs," he said formally, "and her sister, Libby. Ladies, this is my brother, Alexander."
For a moment, it seemed like Grayson might leave it there, but then came the eyebrow arch.