They still couldn't match the enigmatic White family, and they weren't as prosperous as the Fulton, Grover, or Shaw dynasties—but in Aethelburg's business world, the Harts still held an important seat at the table.
Landon topped off Andres's empty glass with red wine.
"Don't tell me the stuff at home still isn't resolved?"
Andres lifted his glass and clinked it lightly against Landon's. "Nothing to do with home."
Liam—the one who'd bribed the driver and arranged the poison—would spend the rest of his life in prison.
The outcome didn't satisfy Andres the way he wanted it to, but at least his father's death had been answered with something that resembled justice.
Landon smoothly changed topics. "I heard you signed Anya. Was it for that piece of land? Or did you take a liking to the girl?"
Andres's expression didn't change. "You're imagining things."
Landon tipped his head back and drank. "Anya's eyes look like hers. Don't tell me there wasn't anything personal mixed in when you went after her."
Andres's fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. Words rose to his throat—then he swallowed them back down.
"Mrs. White's legs aren't getting better," someone cut in. "If you want to find the Shadow Healer, the fastest way is through hacking. So take a guess—why did Andres sign that Morales girl?"
Michael Perez had drifted over from where he'd been trading gossip with Corbin, and answered for Andres.
The Perez family had military ties in Aethelburg. Michael had spent years in uniform—blunt, loud, and generous, the kind of man who never bothered with subtlety. He and Andres got along best.
From the outside, Corbin looked like the social hub of the group. In reality, the one they all revolved around was Andres—the man with the deepest, most unreadable background.
Corbin asked, "So even with Anya's hacking, you still couldn't find the Shadow Healer?"

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