The Vultures

The Gala was a shark tank.

Leo stood in a corner, clutching a glass of sparkling water, while men in suits stared at her like she was a prize horse. Marcus was holding court in the center of the room, laughing loudly.

Silas was a shadow at her back, his presence a physical weight that kept the panic at bay.

"I need air," Leo whispered.

"Balcony," Silas directed.

She slipped out the French doors. The ocean air was cold, biting through her silk dress.

She was about to relax when she heard voices from the neighboring balcony, hidden by a stone pillar.

"She’s feral, Marcus," a man’s voice said. It was Penhaligon, the lawyer. "Did you see her at dinner? She pockets the silverware. She flinches when you move too fast."

"It’s perfect," Marcus’s voice replied, smooth and cruel. "The hoarding, the paranoia, the lack of education. It won't be hard to prove she’s mentally unfit to manage the estate."

Leo froze. Her blood turned to ice.

"The competency hearing is scheduled for Friday," Marcus continued. "We’ll put her in a facility for 'evaluation.' A nice, quiet place where she can rest. Indefinitely. I’ll take conservatorship of the assets."

"And the bodyguard?" Penhaligon asked. "He’s attached to her."

"Kane? He’s a child. I hired him because he’s cheap and follows orders. I’ll tell him to write a report detailing her erratic behavior. If he wants a reference for his next job, he’ll do it."

Leo backed away, her hand over her mouth.

She bumped into a hard chest.

Silas.

He was looking at the stone pillar, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek. He had heard every word.

"Silas," Leo whispered, terrified. "Did you know?"

Silas looked down at her. His eyes were furious—not at her, but for her.

"No," he growled.

He stormed back into the ballroom, Leo trailing behind him. Marcus was pouring champagne.

Silas walked right up to him. The music seemed to stop.

"Mr. Kane," Marcus smiled. "Is there a problem?"

"I won't do it," Silas said. His voice carried, deep and resonant.

"Excuse me?"

"I won't write your report," Silas said. "She isn't unstable. She’s traumatized because you treat her like a lab rat. She is perfectly competent, and I will testify to that."

Marcus’s smile vanished. His face went cold.

"You are an employee, Mr. Kane. And you are fired. Get off my property."

"You can't fire him!" Leo stepped forward, grabbing Silas’s arm. "He works for me!"

"Actually, my dear," Marcus said, stepping closer, "until the probate closes, *I* am the executor. He works for the estate. And he is trespassing."

Marcus snapped his fingers. Four large men—the estate’s private security team—materialized from the crowd. They weren't like Silas. They were older, meaner, mercenaries in suits.

"Escort Mr. Kane out," Marcus ordered. "If he resists, break him."

Silas looked at the four men. He calculated the odds. He could take them. Leo knew he could take them.

But he looked at Leo. If he fought, it would be a brawl. Leo would be in the middle. She would be hurt.

"I'll go," Silas said. He looked at Leo, his eyes burning with an intense message. *Lock the door.*

"Silas, no!" Leo cried.

"Don't let them in, Leo," Silas whispered.

He turned and walked out, flanked by the security team. He didn't look back.

Leo stood alone in the ballroom, surrounded by vultures, feeling the walls of the glass cage closing in.

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