Page 107 of Trailer Park Billionaire
I blink. Then open my mouth. I did this. He got burned because of me.
I want to sayI didn’t mean to hurt you. I want to sayI was a kid. I was angry. I was alone. I just wanted my grandpa back.But the words jam in my throat, useless.
He’s calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that only exists when something’s bubbling right underneath.
“Yeah, yeah, I read the court transcripts,” he continues like he can read my face. “I know you checked to make sure no one was inside. Noble, really. You couldn’t have known that I’d come home early. That I’d try to put the fire out myself.” His eyes narrow. “So, how do you thank someone for all of that?”
Before I can move, before I can even flinch, his hands are around my throat.
He lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing.
“Any ideas?” he snarls, his calm slipping at last.
I struggle, fingers clawing at his arm, feet kicking air. My pulse hammers against his grip.
A second later, he lets go. Just drops me onto the ground.
I hit the floor hard, shoulder first, and gasp like I’ve just surfaced from underwater. My head spins. My chest burns.
“None?” Maximilian St. Clair adjusts his suit jacket while hovering over me. “Well, I had one. A rather ingenious one, I might add. See, I figured reparations were in order. In my opinion, the courts neglected that aspect. You never had topay any because you were,” he adds air quotes, “just a child. But parents are liable for their children. Or, in this case, grandparents. So when my dad promoted me in our family business, I paid your dear Dada a visit. I offered him a choice: come back and work for me to atone for your granddaughter’s sins, or watch her suffer.”
My stomach turns. He forced him to create forgeries for the St. Clair family, to go back to the thing that got him locked up all those years ago.
“He agreed, of course. But I guess his heart wasn’t really in it. Get it?” He clutches both hands to his chest and pretends to have a heart attack.
That son of a bitch.
Tears blur the edges of my vision. Rage claws its way up my throat. But I don’t move. I can’t.
“Now,” he continues, turning fully to the forgery on the easel with an admiring nod, “your debt still needs to be repaid, but he isn’t here to do it for you anymore. So, my first instinct was to just demand a lump sum… a hundred thousand. You know, initially, as a first time payment. But color me surprised, when I recently found out that you not only work at a museum, you inherited some of his artistic brilliance.” He leans in closer, letting his eyes inspect every inch of the canvas. “This was Ben’s idea, wasn’t it?”
Using the wall next to me, I push myself upright and answer with a broken voice. “What do you mean?”
Maximilian points at the canvas like I’m an idiot. “He got you to finish the painting your grandpa got incarcerated for. It’s quite poetic, actually.” He looks at me and sees that I still don’t fully grasp what he’s talking about. “Right, you’re a good artist, not a good detective, I guess. This painting—the original—is in the possession of our family. It’s possibly the most valuable painting we own. Not from a monetary standpoint, but, youknow, there’s history there. And your little boy-toy is planning on stealing it from us. That’s kind of his thing. He’s got this… personal vendetta. Against the family. Which you should know. You two stole two of our paintings just a couple of weeks ago.” Maximilian bows a little and points at his head. “I assume I have you to thank for that hit to my head?”
My mouth drops open. That was him at the gallery back then.
“So, what are we thinking? How much does a convicted arsonist get for assault and robbery of the guy she almost burned to death once? Don’t bother answering, the question is mostly rhetorical. Because the answer is life. But you’re lucky. You’re getting life in your very own, custom-made prison.” He pauses to take in my reaction.
By now, there is none. I have surrendered myself to fate.
“Had I known of your skills earlier, I wouldn’t even have bothered with your grandpa. I would have come straight to you. But it took tracking down my brother and surveilling him to find out whatyoucan do. So now, you’re going to take over for your grandpa. You’ll paint for me, instead of for Ben. You’ll paint like your life depends on it. Because it just… might.” Maximilian gives me another dead grin and claps his hands together like we’ve just wrapped up a productive business meeting. Then he takes one last look at the painting. “Good. Now that we understand each other, here’s how we’ll proceed with ourcollaboration.” His voice is syrupy and smug. “Finish this one,” he continues while nodding toward the canvas, “and I’ll be in touch very soon with what comes next.” Then he walks towards the window and parts the curtain, inspecting the view. “I have a feeling that we’re about to discover a few long-lost masterpieces. Tragic, really, how many have been forgotten over time. But you…” he turns, eyes glinting, “you’re going to bring them back.”
This time he doesn’t need to say it. I know what he means. I’ll be painting ghosts. Lies. Brushstroke resurrections of whatnever made it out of the fire—or was never real to begin with. And he’ll sell them to the highest bidder.
I stare down at my scraped palms, my knees still shaking. There’s a scream inside me that hasn’t stopped since he said ‘my brother’. But now it’s wrapped in something else. Cold, hard dread.
I think of running, of screaming, of clawing my way out of this, just like I did when I was barely fifteen.
But there’s no one to run to. No grandpa to cover for me. No courtroom to grant leniency. And the man I thought might—just might—be in this with me together is the one who has been lying to me all along. About who he is, about why we met, about why he’s been hiding me here in this apartment.
So I nod.
I nod like someone who understands the terms of a deal she never wanted to make.
Ben’s brother beams like a salesman who just closed a deal with all the fine print in his favor. I guess I can see the similarity between them now. They both have that practiced smile.
“Delighted,” he says, picking invisible lint from his lapel again. “Truly delighted. I knew you were smart. Not like your grandpa, may he rest in peace.”
