I held out the keys.
“Lander took the grandchildren to his house. You have full access to Felix’s home and his computer. The passwords are on a card in the left pocket.”
“Thank you.”
“These are Felix’s business partners,” Augustine said, turning back to the publicity picture.
“You said that these four Primes are the primary suspects. Why them? Felix’s death threatens the project. Don’t they have an interest in keeping the reclamation going?”
Augustine nodded. “Indeed. The Pit is a chain of islands, connected by bridges and accessible by a single road. At night, the Pit is shut down. All personnel withdraw except for the guard at the gate that blocks that road. The main island with the project’s HQ is protected by a fence and a gate. The gate requires an after-hours code that is known only by the five members of the board. The night Felix died the code was used twice. First time by an unknown member of the board or their agent, who then proceeded to destroy the surveillance footage from the hidden camera feed, and second, by Felix himself.”
“He walked into a trap.”
“Yes.” Augustine turned back to the publicity shot. “From left to right. Next to Felix is Marat Kazarian, Prime, Summoner.”
Marat was a tan-skinned man in his midthirties with curly dark hair, dark eyes, a prominent nose, and a short dark beard. He wore a wine-colored suit, an unusual choice, but it fit him. The last name pointed to Armenian roots. I didn’t immediately recognize the House. There was something dangerous about Marat. He would look at home in a black outfit atop a dark horse brandishing a sword. He stared at the camera as if it was challenging him.
“Cheryl Castellano, Prime, Animator.”
Cheryl could have been anywhere from twenty-five to forty-five. She had olive skin and a beautiful full face with a wide mouth and big grey eyes under artfully shaped eyebrows. Her brown hair with caramel highlights was pulled back into a loose, effortless updo. Her expression was kind and slightly tired, as if she fully understood the artificial nature of the picture but had resigned herself to playing her part. I hadn’t come across her House either, although I’d heard her name before, associated with some charitable work.
“Stephen Jiang, Prime, Aquakinetic.”
Stephen was ridiculously handsome. If I didn’t know better, I would have taken him for an illusion Prime. In his early twenties or possibly thirties, he sat on a stool wearing a navy suit with a white shirt and dark blue tie. His dark hair was cut in a fashionable style and brushed back, exposing a broad high forehead. His cheekbones were perfect, his cheeks slightly concave above a square jaw with a strong chin. His nose was narrow, his lips full, and his eyes, dark and piercing, looked at the world with surprising intensity.
He also looked vaguely familiar. For the life of me I couldn’t remember where I’d seen him before. We hadn’t met. I would remember that.
“Yummy,” Lina volunteered, twisting the braid in the back of my head.
“Yes, he’s handsome.” Augustine looked at me. “Almost as handsome as Alessandro Sagredo.”
Grabbing a pen off the desk and stabbing Augustine Montgomery with it wasn’t in the best interest of my House and would significantly hamper my investigation. But I would have enjoyed it.
“And finally . . .”
“Tatyana Pierce,” I finished. “Prime, Pyrokinetic.”
About four years ago, Adam Pierce, the youngest son of House Pierce, handsome and spoiled by his family, involved himself in a political conspiracy, which was now known as the Sturm-Charles conspiracy, and tried to burn down Houston. My older sister, Nevada, and my brother-in-law were the reason the city was still standing, and Adam was now rotting in a high security prison in Alaska. Tatyana Pierce was his sister.
I looked at Tatyana. She was thirty-six years old, with chestnut hair pulled into a loose braid and tossed over one shoulder. Both Adam and Peter, her older brother, were lean, but she was softer, with a rounded face and a generous figure. A beautiful woman, the kind who would turn heads and reduce stainless-steel beams to puddles of glowing metal in seconds. And she hated Connor, Nevada, and our entire family.
This was less than ideal. Much, much less.
“Time’s up.” Augustine rose. “Remember, every participant contributed money to the Pit but the bulk of the investment came from House Morton. The project was plagued with issues from the start. If the flow of that cash stops today, tomorrow the site will become a construction equipment graveyard.”
I pulled the towel off my shoulders. The section of the frosted wall turned into a mirror in front of me. I looked exactly the way I would have chosen to look for this meeting. Well put together, professional, with subtle makeup and my hair out of the way in a complex plait on my neck. Lina’s expertise with cosmetics made me look older. I let Victoria Tremaine’s granddaughter out of the cage.
“Whoa,” Lina murmured.
“I believe we’re ready.” Augustine waved his hand and the section of the frosted wall slid aside. He invited me to go through. “Please.”
We walked down the underwater hallway side by side.
“Any words of wisdom?” I asked. Augustine enjoyed a mentor role.
“Life is full of surprises,” he said. “Try to cope with grace.”
We entered a small room. Inside two MII employees waited by an elderly white man sitting in a wheelchair. Gaunt, his grey hair cut very short, he stared through me with dark eyes, like an old buzzard defending its carrion. If I showed any weakness at all, he would claw me bloody. Lander Morton. My new employer.
Lander peered at Augustine. “About time. I thought you said it would be a man.”
Augustine shrugged. “She’s better.”
“She looks young. How old are you?”
“Old enough. I’m here because I deliver. Do you want results, or do you want someone who looks the part?”
Lander squinted at me. “She’ll do. Let’s get on with this.”
Augustine nodded. The female employee opened the double doors, revealing a luxury conference room. The four Primes from the publicity photo sat at the table, each with an assistant standing behind them.
Lander motioned me over with a wave of his bony fingers. I stepped closer and bent down.
“One of these fuckers killed my boy,” he told me in a hoarse whisper loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “You find which one of them did it.”
I nodded and straightened.
Lander touched the controls on his chair, and it rolled forward into the room. Augustine and I followed, he on the left and I on the right.
Nobody rose. Clearly, manners were in short supply.
Lander stopped his chair a few feet from the table, peering at the group. Augustine smoothly steeped to the side, out of the way, leaving me and Lander on our own.
“Our deepest condolences,” Cheryl said. She sounded like she meant it.
“Save it,” Lander snapped at her. “You all know why we’re here. My son is dead and the contract you signed obligates you to cooperate with the inquest into his death. Montgomery will handle the investigation. This is his girl. She’ll be doing the grunt work. I expect you to talk to her or I’ll haul you before the Assembly so fast, you’ll piss yourselves.”