Chapter 4 - The Soundboard of Treason
The next morning, the fog over the Mississippi did not lift. It hung low and heavy, turning the shipping yard into a landscape of ghosts.
Marin spent the day in the office, refusing to be idle. She had requested a small, portable keyboard from one of August's men, and she spent the hours running scales, her mind analytical and sharp.
She wasn't just playing; she was thinking.
"Mr. Rail," she said as August entered the room, carrying a tray of hot chicory coffee and beignets.
"August," he corrected gently, setting the tray down.
"August," she conceded. "Vance's men knew exactly where to find me at the auction house. But the tuning contract was finalized only yesterday morning. The only people who knew I would be there were the auction coordinator, myself, and..."
"The buyer," August finished, his eyes narrowing. "The buyer who purchased my mother's piano."
"Yes," Marin said. "Who bought it?"
"An anonymous trust," August said. "But the funds were routed through a maritime bank in New Orleans. A bank owned by Julian Dupré."
"Julian," Marin murmured, searching her memory. "The man who bid on the antique French mirrors? His heart was very fast yesterday, but it wasn't from illness. It was from excitement. Or guilt."
August’s face went cold. Julian Dupré was one of his oldest allies, a man who had stood beside his father. If Julian had betrayed him to Vance, it meant the rot in his organization went far deeper than he had feared.
"I need to meet with Julian," August said, reaching for his coat.
"No," Marin said, standing up. "If you go to him with guns, he will know you are desperate. He will call Vance, and they will trap you. Let me go."
"Absolutely not," August growled. "I am not using you as bait."
"I am not bait," Marin said, her voice sharp. "I am a piano tuner. Julian Dupré has a rare Steinway in his mansion on St. Charles Avenue. I know because his coordinator called my agency last week asking for a restoration estimate. Let me go there to inspect the instrument. I will listen to him, August. People talk when they think a blind woman cannot see their faces. They reveal everything in the tone of their voice, the rhythm of their breathing."
August stepped close to her, his chest pressing against her hands as he grabbed her arms. "It is too dangerous, Marin. If they realize what you are doing—"
"They won't," she said, looking up into the darkness where she knew his eyes were. "Because you will be waiting outside. And because... I want to save you, August. Not just your empire. You."
May you like
August looked at her, his heart skipping a beat—not from his defect, but from a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was desperate, sweet, and filled with a silent promise to protect her with his last breath.
"Alright," he whispered against her lips. "But if anything goes wrong, I burn the city down to get you out."
