Page 7 of Faking it with the Billionaire
The chauffeur waits for me outside the front entrance and shuts the vehicle door as I head inside the school. Immediately, I’m greeted by one of the teachers or staff members of some sort.
“Can I help you?” the woman asks. She’s wearing a lanyard around her neck with an identification tag. I should be relieved that they’re quite on top of security, but there are no metal detectors or any other type of surveillance system that I can see. No cameras. No high-tech equipment.
“Yes, I’m Emerson Ryan. I’d like to speak with the headmaster.”
“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asks, glancing me up and down. Her brow tightens, and she looks at her watch.
She probably has to be in class soon with her students. A bell chimes and the kids start to hurry inside their respective classrooms.
“I don’t,” I say. “Mr. Kyler Greyson assured me I wouldn’t need an appointment.”
Her eyes widen, and the woman nods. “Oh, I see. This is about Bristol and Liam.”
“Yes,” I say, although I’m not sure what transpired between the two students. Kyler has kept me in the dark, but it is only my first week on the job. The background that we dug up when trying to focus on potential threats was on Kyler. No one looked into Bristol directly. After all, she’s six.
“Come with me,” the woman says as she ushers me down the hall, through the hustle and bustle as the students head into class and the second bell rings. She’s quick and light on her feet, and her strides make me have to jog to keep up.
The main office door is wide open, and she leads me inside to the front desk. “They’ll be able to help you here,” she says before hurrying to her classroom.
I can only imagine the chaos of leaving a roomful of elementary-aged children alone, more specifically, first graders. I’m assuming that woman was one of Bristol’s teachers. Why else would she have known who Bristol was and about some type of skirmish between Bristol and Liam?
Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. For all I know, the two could have been caught kissing on the playground.
Although, I doubt it.
I introduce myself to the woman behind the desk, and she has me take a seat and wait for the headmaster to be available.
A few minutes pass, and I shift uncomfortably, not liking the idea of Bristol being on her own. Although if it’s a kid she has to deal with, that’s far less concerning to me than a real threat—the kind that involves violence and men with guns.
Eventually, I’m brought into the headmaster’s office, and I introduce myself.
“Hi, I’m Emerson Ryan,” I begin, and the gentleman cuts me off before I can continue.
“I know who you are,” he says, gesturing for me to have a seat. “You’re here on behalf of Kyler Greyson. He couldn’t be bothered to show up or return our calls regarding his daughter.”
I exhale a heavy breath. “He is incredibly busy, as I’m sure you can understand. Given his public image, status, and wealth, I’ve been brought in to protect his daughter.”
“Protect her?” He laughs sourly and rubs his forehead. He removes his spectacles and leans back at his desk. He’s an older man with a protruding belly that sticks out from his desk as he does so.
“Is that what he told you? That his daughter needs protecting from Liam Moretti?”
“Moretti,” I repeat, the name clicking on my tongue, “as in the Moretti crime family?” Any sane person would have probably not asked that question aloud, but I’ve been known to push when it’s not always appropriate.
Having worked for the FBI for even a short time, I have plenty of knowledge of the crime families in and around New York City. We had a team tasked with taking down the Russian Bratva. They weren’t successful at the time I left the bureau, but it wasn’t my unit. And I haven’t followed up to find out if they ever did take down Mikhail Barinov or his men.
The headmaster clears his throat, pushes his chair back, and stands. He briskly walks to the door and shuts it before turning around to face me.
“The walls have ears, Ms. Ryan,” he says. “It would be wise for you to remember that.”
I bite down on my tongue, opting not to divulge that I previously worked for the FBI. The hairs on my arms stand on end around the headmaster. There’s something about him that’s not quite right.
Maybe it’s the fact that he’s well aware he has students enrolled in his school who have parents who are involved in organized crime. I try not to overanalyze the situation like I typically would as a federal agent. The fact that the guy is taking money, whether it be from a donation or school fees, the money is dirty.
But that’s not my job to worry about or uncover.
I’m here solely to protect Bristol.
“I’ve been hired by Mr. Greyson to protect his daughter, Bristol,” I say. “Mr. Greyson has reason to believe his daughter may be in danger.”
