“Oh,” she said, feeling relieved. “Him. Wait. Did he finally get smart and decide to stop insisting that I meet him in person?”
“Indeed he did,” the taller man said, setting his bowler hat on the counter. She winced, noticing the mushed-up apple Ruri had dropped there. The little girl came and climbed into her arms. Strangers made her nervous.
“Why are you late?” Allriandre asked. “His payments always come on the first of the month.”
The taller one coughed. “You haven’t heard? You… don’t read the broadsheets?”
“Do Ilooklike I have time for broadsheets?” she asked. “If you have my payment, that’s great. I could use it. But Ireallyneed some sleep. So…”
“Miss Allriandre,” the shorter man said, “Master Wayne passed last week. It was quite spectacular—he was the one who detonated the bomb. Did you hear about that?”
She’dheard rumblings of it at the forges. Not his part in it. But the whole flood and, and the evacuations… and… Wait.
“He’s dead?” she asked.
They nodded.
Rusts. How did she feel about that? Happy? The man who had killed her father was finally dead. She should be overjoyed, shouldn’t she?
Instead she felt confused. A little angry still, yes. That would never leave her. A hint of relief. But mostly… sorry. Sorry for how it had all turned out. Sorry that wounds long dulled sent a pang through her now and then. Sorry for mistakes. Mistakes didn’t always turn into something better, not by a long mile. But she could understand now how they happened. Even the big ones.
The taller man set a large folder onto the room’s only table. “Shall we?” he asked.
“Shall we what?” she replied.
“Miss Allriandre,” the shorter man said, “you are the primary beneficiary of Master Wayne’s estate.”
“What’s that amount to?” she asked. “Three balls of gum and an unpaid bar tab?”
“Currently,” the tall one said, “it’s twenty million boxings—liquid—along with majority stake ownerships in several important holdings, equating to at least another hundred.”
The room fell silent save for Ruri’s sniffling, which the girl solved by wiping her nose on Allriandre’s jumpsuit. Allriandre barely noticed.
“Did you say…a hundred and twenty million?” she whispered.
“Give or take, depending on the market,” the taller man said. “He invested wisely—in a brilliant way, actually, against most conventional wisdom—using a considerable amount of aluminum as collateral. Turns out electricity, fabrication, and power were the place to be six years ago.”
The shorter man pulled over a chair for her. “Please,” he said softly. “Sit down. We have some things to go over.”
“Ahundred and twenty million,” she repeated, her eyes wide, barely able to think. Her debts—from her failed art studio—equated to barely ten thousand.
“Yes,” the taller man said, setting out some papers. “By my estimation, you have become the fourth-richest person in the city.” He looked up. “There are a few holdbacks, mind you. Accounts that Master Wayne set aside for other things. But that equates to less than five hundred thousand in total. Everything else… well, it’s yours.”
She sank down into the chair.
The short man pushed over a note. Handwritten, stained with something. “He wanted you to have this.”
It simply said,Sorry.
As if that could explain all of this. Overwhelmed, she took the note, then held it close to her chest. With money, she could bring her family to Elendel. Resolve their problems. Build the life for them all that she’dpromised when they’dput everything into sending her to the city.
Ruri grabbed at the card, getting toothpaste on it.
“What are the holdbacks for?” Allriandre asked. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m merely curious.”
The two shared a look.
“Various things,” the shorter man said. “Each one of an… individual nature.”