Page 173 of Mexico Can Choke On It
BARK! BARK!
Miss Muffy’s series of demanding barks bounce off the closet walls like furry little sirens.
“Oh, darling,” Nigel coos. “What is it, my sweet girl? Are you feeling anxious?”
The dog’s growing obsession toward my jacket pocket makes it clear. “Princess Fluffington wants a snack.”
I pull out the napkin-wrapped cookies I snagged from Sebastian’s suite, and both men immediately look at me like I’m holding a loaded weapon.
“Oh right,” I laugh, the irony no longer lost on me. “We established that fancy food equals potential death.” I break off a piece and pop it in my mouth. “There. Official taste test complete. Only peanut butter, no royal assassination attempts.”
“Given Miss Von Cashmere’s apparent determination,” Nigel says, “I suppose a small portion would be acceptable.”
I offer Muffy a nibble, and she scarfs it down, her little pink tongue working overtime to get every crumb.
“So,” I say, “Echo poisoned the king to open up a reservation slot for Fiona? But why?”
“Because she needed to marry your brother before two things happened,” Bryce explains. “Before news of her family’s bankruptcy went public, and before Heartvest’s IPO made your brother a billionaire. Hence her move to convince him of no prenup.”
“You assholes and your money really are the root of all evil,” I mutter. “Like seriously—get a fucking job.”
“The authorities were only able to establish Miss Whitfield’s money-laundering activities because she deviated from her usual pattern. Typically, she would extract modest amounts over extended periods from her nonprofits. However, the financial demands of this wedding required her to drain the charity accounts entirely.”
“So greed made her sloppy.”
“Precisely,” Nigel confirms. “There are currently outstanding warrants for both Miss Fiona Whitfield and Mr. Marvin Grossman.”
“Who the hell is Marvin Grossman?”
“That’s Echo’s real name,” Bryce explains. “Marvin Grossman, age thirty-two, from Fresno, California. Turns out our mysterious European artist is actually a failed community college dropout with a Roblox gaming channel.”
“Please tell me you’ve taken my brother aside and explained that his bride-to-be is basically a sexy Ponzi scheme.”
“No,” Bryce says simply.
“And we have no intention of doing so,”Nigel adds.
“Are you out of your goddamn minds?” I shriek, making Miss Muffy’s ears perk up in alarm. “My brother is about to legally handcuff himself to a federal fugitive! We have to warn him!”
BARK! BARK! BARK!
“Miss Brinkman,” Nigel says, “perhaps another small treat for Miss Von Cashmere? She seems to find your energy rather… stimulating.”
I break off another cookie chunk and feed it to her. “I guess maybe we are a little alike, Miss Muffy. We both love being loud and demanding snacks when we’re stressed.”
“I’ve consulted with the authorities,” Nigel continues, “and they’ve requested that we proceed with the wedding ceremony as scheduled. They’re concerned that we may spook Miss Whitfield or Mr. Grossman and cause them to flee.”
“It’s unclear how much money those two have stashed away,” Bryce adds. “If they run, they could disappear permanently. We can’t risk making them suspicious.”
My brain chugs away, trying to process what I’ve just learned.
“You want justice, Petra?” Bryce’s blue eyes lock on to mine. “This is how you get it.”
“Can’t we at least tell Gavin?” I ask.
Nigel shakes his head, regretful. “Given his emotional attachment, I do not believe that’s wise. I have witnessed Miss Whitfield’s powers of persuasion. It is entirely plausible he might try to assist her escape.”
Shit. I can’t argue with that.
