The Reborn Heiress: Betting On Chaos

Claire left the Manor an hour later. She didn't go back to the apartment. She directed Piper to a nondescript address in Midtown.

It was a steakhouse. The kind with no sign, just a heavy wooden door and a bouncer who knew everyone's net worth by their shoes.

"Wait here," Claire told Piper.

She walked inside. The air was thick with cigar smoke and the smell of aged beef. It was a boys' club.

She found him in the back booth.

Branch Brewer was nursing a tumbler of amber liquid. He had changed out of the tuxedo shirt into a dark grey cashmere sweater. The sleeves were pushed up, revealing forearms corded with muscle.

He was holding the receipt from Harry Winston.

He looked up as she approached. His eyes raked over her, lazy and dangerous.

"Thirty million dollars," Branch said. "You trying to buy a small country, Claire?"

Claire slid into the leather booth opposite him. She placed her hands on the table.

"That was a deposit," she said. "To show you I'm serious."

"Spending my money shows me you're expensive," Branch countered. "Not serious."

Claire reached into her bag. She pulled out a single, folded napkin. She slid it across the table.

"This is the return on investment."

Branch picked it up. He opened it. Inside were not photocopies, but a series of numbers and names, written in her elegant, frantic script. An offshore account number in the Caymans. A date. A transfer amount. The name of a shell corporation.

Branch scanned the napkin. His eyebrows drew together. He stopped drinking.

"Where did you get this?" he asked. His voice lost the slur. It was razor sharp.

"Derrick talks in his sleep," she lied, her voice flat. It was a plausible lie for a fiancée. "He mumbles about numbers. I started writing them down."

"These look like federal crimes. This is RICO act territory."

"I know."

Branch looked up at her. For the first time, there was no mockery in his gaze. Only respect. And caution.

"So," he said, leaning back. "What do you want? Besides my credit limit."

"I want you to crash the engagement party tonight."

Branch laughed. "Like in The Graduate? Screaming your name from the balcony?"

"No," Claire said. "I want you to stand up during Derrick's speech and announce that you have purchased the Osborn family debt."

Branch paused. He swirled his drink. "Go on."

"Derrick is leveraged to the hilt. His loans are toxic. You buy them for pennies on the dollar this afternoon. When the party starts, you own him. You own his house, his campaign bus, the suit on his back."

Branch smiled. It was a cruel, beautiful smile. "You want me to repossess the groom-to-be."

"Exactly."

"And in exchange?"

"You get 10% of Avila Corp when I take over as CEO. And you get the satisfaction of watching Derrick cry on live TV."

Branch stared at her. He drummed his fingers on the table.

"I don't want the shares," he said.

Claire blinked. "10% is worth four hundred million."

"I have money," Branch said dismissively. He leaned forward. His face was inches from hers. She could smell the peat of the scotch. "I want a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

"An open-ended one. A blank check. One day, I will come to you, and I will ask for something. And you will say yes. No questions asked."

A chill ran down Claire's spine. This was dangerous. Branch was a shadow broker. His 'favors' could be anything.

But she had no choice.

"Deal," she said.

She held out her hand.

Branch took it. His palm was rough, calloused. He didn't shake her hand. He held it, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

"Deal."

His phone rang on the table. Derrick.

Branch smirked. He tapped the speaker button.

"Brewer," he answered.

"Stay away from her!" Derrick screamed through the phone. "I know she's with you. My driver tracked the car."

Branch looked at Claire. He winked.

"Relax, Osborn," Branch drawled. "We're just discussing... engagement gifts. I think you're going to love what I got you."