Succession (32 page)

Sy comes out, his face held together and calm as usual. “Everything all right, sir?”

I look at him and it all makes sense.

“Go get the tablet I gave you,” I order, not bothering to answer. When he obeys, I call in one of the security guards I’ve hired to guard my house. The idea of someone guarding me with a weapon sounds appealing.

To Sy’s credit, he obeys, returning and handing the tablet to me without a word. He glances at the security guard with curiosity, but stays silent.

“Someone is releasing information without my approval,” I tell him, trying not to lose my composure. There is always a chance that there was some sort of data breach, although it is so unlikely as to be impossible. “The major news that got released could only have been from a few people. Some other news could have been from ever fewer.”

Sy nods. “I assume I’m one of those people, sir?”

“Yes.”

Sy looks at me, and for a moment I think I see hurt on his face. It’s gone before I have time to consider it.

“Are you working with anyone else?” I ask him. “Have you spoken to a reporter, answered a question—”

“No, sir,” he cuts me off. “Not intentionally, nor accidentally.”

I pause, considering how I want to handle this. The part of me that Kristine Miller raised wants to torture him, to cause him to suffer as much as possible until I’m convinced he’s telling the truth. The part of me that’s in love with Sascha knows that our relationship will be ended by those actions. The part of me that loves research and logic knows that a man like Sy won’t give anything up, anyway.

“You will be confined to your bedroom until further notice,” I inform him. “I’ll arrange for locks to be placed on the windows and doors immediately. If you attempt to leave, you will be beaten and chained. I’ll have someone look through your tablet to determine if there is anything on there that shouldn’t be. If I find anything, even a hint that you have betrayed me, you will be disposed of.”

I don’t know what reaction I’m expecting from him, but it’s not the one he gives.

“That’s a good choice, sir,” he replies. “I hope you find whoever did this before they do any more damage.”

I just stare at him. If he’s acting, he’s good; if he’s not, he’s the most loyal servant I could ever ask for.

“Shall I go now, or would you like to accompany me?”

He asks it like it’s not a problem, like I haven’t just accused him of something horrible. I get up, motioning for the security guard to follow me. Sy returns to his room without a word and I order the guard to stay in front of his door. The ones outside will alert me if there is any action from the windows. I can’t bring myself to look at Sy as he enters his room, closing the door behind him quietly.

I’ve spent my whole life being taught that the Demoted are untrustworthy, sneaky, easily manipulated. Sy has demonstrated none of these qualities, but I can’t take the risk, not when we’re so close. My mother was evil and abusive—she still is—but she was always good at security. She would never have allowed her house to be raided, never would have allowed a slave of hers to be taken in for questioning, and she never would have allowed a slave she suspected of betraying her to roam freely through her house.

I hire a locksmith to come and secure the doors and windows, and I’m making these arrangements when Sascha comes out.

“Why is there a guard in the hallway?” he asks, taking a seat next to me, blissfully unaware.

I wish I could keep him that way.

“There has been a security issue,” I inform him, handing over my tablet which still has a variety of new sites open. “I’m taking the necessary precautions.”

He’s quiet for a moment, reading through the articles, but as he does, I can see him growing angry. I wait for the fallout.

Sascha surprises me by typing something on my tablet and shoving it at me. I read the sentence he has typed.

Get the security guard out of here so we can talk freely.

I consider denying him, and then I think better of it. Syrus wasn’t showing any signs of aggression or danger; if he’s working with someone who wanted me dead, he could have killed me thousands of times already. To blackmail and discredit me, I need to be alive, and the longer there is a stranger in the house—another stranger, I remind myself—the more we risk exposure.

I tell the security guard I’ve changed my mind, but remind him to keep an eye out from outside. The moment he walks out the door, Sascha glares at me.

“You know it wasn’t him,” he says, furious.

“I don’t, or I wouldn’t have locked him up,” I remind him.

“He’s done nothing but protect us!” Sascha yells. “You, me, this project! He has no reason to give a shit, but he’s always been there! This is how you repay him?”

“Exactly, Sascha!” I snap. “He has no reason to give a shit! Not about this project, not about me, not about you. He protected you in the first place because he thought you might be connected enough to keep him alive. What is his motivation for continuing now that he’s safe? What, did he just fall in love with you from the second he set eyes on you? He has to be working with someone.”

“Right, because I’m just that fucking undesirable,” Sascha snarls back at me. “Are you that damaged that you can’t imagine someone just doing something nice? Sy has done nothing but take care of me.”

I feel myself losing grip. “Well, if that’s all he wants, then he’ll come out of this unscathed.”

“Nobody comes out of dealing with you unscathed,” Sascha reminds me. “What about your mother? Torenze? The lawyer? Don’t they know the same information?”

“I thought it was my mother at first,” I admit. “But some of the things that got leaked… she couldn’t have known about them.”

“She knows about everything. She always has. She bugged your house and raided it later. She’s the obvious problem.”

“Yes, and that’s what doesn’t make sense. She’s never obvious. This is too transparent for her. If she was planning something, she’d wait and reveal it at the worst possible time—for example, during my trial. And Oliver wouldn’t do this; he’s part of the business. This would damage his career as well. Same with the lawyer. I’ll keep an eye on them, though, if you think it would make you feel better.”

“Maybe I did it,” Sascha challenges. It’s so obviously a bluff.

“I know you didn’t. And so do you.”

“I’ll go through his tablet and prove it wasn’t him,” Sascha offers. “He’s never out without you. You know he couldn’t have met up with someone. He would have done it on his tablet.”

“The sponsorship event,” I recall. “I saw him speaking with someone.”

“It was one of his old master’s associates,” Sascha counters. “The 27th Street Gang. They’re associated with your new friends. Maybe the Argova family is involved in this.”

“They’ve worked too hard to make things work out for me,” I decide, shaking my head. I want to believe Sascha, but I’m worried that his feelings for Sy are clouding his judgment. I’m worried that Sy’s old connections might outweigh his new interests. Outsiders are a threat. “Did you hear everything that transpired between them?”

Sascha looks at me nervously for a moment, torn. “No,” he admits. “Torenze pulled me away before I heard the end of what they were talking about.

“I’ll have someone else check out his tablet.”

“Someone you trust?” Sascha accuses.

I sigh. “Sascha, you know I trust you. I just know Sy means a lot to you. I don’t think you can be unbiased about this, nor do I think it would be fair to place that burden on you. I’ll hire someone; maybe our new data analyst can handle it.”

“Maybe our new data analyst is working with someone else,” Sascha reminds me, his tone cold.

“I’ll consider that,” I concede. “If he finds anything on Sy’s tablet, I’ll let you review it first. I’m not out to place the blame on him, I just need everyone to be safe.”

“You haven’t trusted him from the beginning.”

“No. I haven’t.” It’s harsh, but true. I understand his attraction to Sascha, and I understand his need to protect himself. But his continued loyalty has always seemed too convenient. I like Syrus, but if he has any motives other than finding a kind master and fucking a pretty boy, I can’t have him around.

“I trust him,” Sascha reminds me. “I’ve saved your ass enough times. Why can’t you trust me on this? I know he wouldn’t hurt either of us.”

I want to get angry, but I’d react the same way if someone accused Sascha of doing something like this. “I trust you, but I don’t trust him. For the time being, he needs to be removed from the equation.”

“What have you done with him? Did you hurt him?”

I shake my head. “No, Sascha, I didn’t do a goddamned thing to him. I took his tablet, and I hired a locksmith to come secure his windows and doors. I’ll make sure he has food, and he’s not chained or anything. He’ll be fine.”

“I need to talk to him,” Sascha decides.

Reluctantly, I shake my head. “It would be better if you didn’t,” I tell him, hoping to break the news gently. “I can’t risk him knowing anything else, not this close to trial.”

“You’re not even going to let me talk to him?” he asks, his face showing his disbelief. “Not even with you in the room?”

“No,” I tell him, more firmly this time.

Sascha looks upset, and I reach out to place a hand on his arm, hoping to comfort him. He pulls away, a look of utter disgust on his face.

“Don’t touch me,” he snaps.

I pull my hand back, trying not to show how deeply his words affect me. “I’m doing what’s necessary, Sascha. I’m not doing this to hurt you.”

Sascha stands up, a furious look still gracing his face, and he takes a few steps down the hall. “I lose him, you lose me.”

I watch him walk out of the room. A few seconds later, I hear a door slam, and I know it’s not the one to our bedroom. Perhaps more accurately, the one to my bedroom, because it’s clear that Sascha wants nothing to do with me until this is all over.

Chapter 28
Unbalanced

Over the next few days, I attend publicity events on my own, as Sascha refuses to speak to me, and I’m still not sure whether I can trust Syrus.

It’s a disaster.

I brought my slaves along to previous events in order to demonstrate my commitment to the Demoted system; now that I am alone, I am accused of switching sides, of joining the many abolitionist movements that have arisen as a result of my research. The movements have always existed; they just got stronger as a result of my work. Yet another thing I never intended.

Instead of focusing on my research, or the information I have exposed about my mother and the inadequacies of the Miller System, the questions focus on asking where my pretty little pet is and where the bodyguard is. Edson is calling me daily to criticize me for not “handling” my problem. She reminds me repeatedly that this sort of publicity can’t be handled, and tells me that there’s a possibility that I could be arrested on new charges—violating the gag order that was placed on me years ago as well as a new set of fraud and treason charges. The idea of Demoted subjects outperforming free counterparts is unthinkable; the only “logical” explanation, according to the officials, is that I falsified the results.

I’m exhausted and furious by the time I leave the publicity event. I don’t trust myself to drive, so I put the hov-car on auto-drive and glare at the sky, resenting the good weather. As I do so, I am shocked to see my own face on a highway advertisement. It’s an old picture, from one of the first events Sascha and I attended after I was released from prison. He’s standing at my side, smiling, like the perfect slave. A tagline at the bottom of the advertisement reads: “Safe house? Penthouse? Where is Cashiel Michaud hiding his slaves?”

I am fed up, finished.

In the advertisement, Sascha looks like the perfect partner. That’s where he belongs, and I know I’m the one ruining it with my paranoia. I need him, not just to look good on stage, but to help me with this project.

I storm into the house and make my way to Sascha’s room, not even bothering to knock. He looks up at me with a mixture of surprise and irritation evident on his face. The nerve he has.

“I need you at publicity events,” I inform him, not bothering with any sort of niceties. When this is all over, I can apologize to him, but until then, I have to make sure we stay safe.

Sascha shrugs. “I thought you wanted a bodyguard when I was out in public.”

He returns to his tablet and I fight the urge to smack it out of his hands.

“Sascha, please,” I say quietly. “I know you’ve kept up with the media, and you know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t really need you. You need to do this for me.”

He stays silent, although I can see from the way he tenses that he’s getting nervous.

“You’ve put just as much into this project as I have. Don’t fuck it up because you’re angry at me.”

He glares at me. “Why should I trust you? If I fuck something up, will you lock me up like you did Sy? Who knows what else you’ll do.”

I take a breath before responding. Forcing a slave to do something is easy, convincing one to do something is far more difficult. That is especially true for Sascha. “Don’t act like I’m doing this maliciously, or like you don’t know perfectly well that Sy is doing just fine.”

“How would I know?” Sascha snaps. “You won’t even let me talk to him.”

I scowl. “Do you think I don’t know that you try to talk to him through his door every single time I go out?”

This actually gets a reaction; Sascha turns bright red and looks away, nervous.

“There’s a surveillance system,” I remind him. “It wasn’t supposed to be for spying on you, but it seems you’ve forgotten it. Sascha, I don’t care about that. From the looks of it, you didn’t get much of a response from Syrus, anyway.”

Sascha nods, looking at me just as nervously. “He just told me that he was fine and to do as I was told.”

“He’s got a better sense of the situation than you do,” I admit. It’s nice to know that I can trust the man that much. It makes me wonder if I’m overreacting, if I’m channeling my mother too much, but I’d rather be safe. “Still, I’d appreciate it if you took his advice.”