Chapter 262

Bob drove up to the southern antebellum mansion, its Greek Revival style looming over him like an ancient goddess of Justice. He parked his black Porsche at the bottom of the steps and walked up them two at a time. His heart pounded with trepidation as the Doric columns swallowed him.

Bob knocked on the grand cedar door and straightened his suit jacket. The door immediately opened to reveal a footman. The footman looked Bob up and down before admitting him wordlessly and leading him to the sitting room.

“Please wait here while I go speak to Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont,” the footman said curtly.

Without waiting for Bob’s response, the footman turned on his heal and left the sitting room.

Bob, unaccustomed to having to wait in the Beaumont household, awkwardly sat in an armchair beside the fire. He wished that he had brought Lisa with him now. Perhaps she could have sped up this process a bit, or even if not, she could have at least provided him with some conversation in the interim.

In his boredom—and to fight off the anxiety slowly building in his chest—Bob stood up and examined the paintings hanging from the sitting room walls.

So many wolves.

Bob loved wolves as much as the next werewolf, but he had the feeling that the upper echelon had a bit of an obsession with them that bordered on obscene. Even the molding on the fireplace featured the silhouettes and heads of fierce wolves. He would have sworn that the Beaumonts worshipped wolves instead of the Moon Goddess.

Bob glanced at his wristwatch. Nearly twenty minutes had passed since the footman had left. This was more than unusual; it was downright unacceptable.

Bob could feel his anger growing. He knew that he could not lose his temper with people such as the Beaumonts, but this was ridiculous. He needed to speak to them, now, and he had never been denied or delayed an audience with them before.

What was going on?

He refused to believe that it had anything to do with what the media had dubbed the “Vampiric Conspiracy”. He could not believe it. If he did, then everything that he had built up would come crashing down around him.

No. There was just some sort of mix-up, was all. It was probably that incompetent footman’s fault.

Yes, that was it, Bob decided. That footman had lost track of the time or dallied, was all.

Still, Bob did not have the time to wait around for a footman’s error. He needed to see the Beaumonts immediately, if he wanted their help cleaning up this mess.

He would just seek them out himself. He knew his way around their mansion. He would just go find them.

His mind set, Bob stormed toward the entrance of the sitting room. Just as he was about to exit, he ran straight into the footman.

“Going somewhere, Mr. Barbier?” the footman asked.

“Only stretching my legs,” Bob said with the most charming smile that he could manage.

“I see. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont will see you now.”

“Very good. Lead the way.”

Bob followed the footman down one hallway after another, shaking out his arms and rotating his head to expend the angry energy that he had collected inside the sitting room. By the time that they had reached the den specifically for receiving visitors, Bob was calmed down once more and ready to face his benefactors.

The footman opened the double doors and announced, “Mr. Beaumont, Mrs. Beaumont, I have a Mr. Barbier here to see you.”

“Let him in,” Mr. Beaumont’s voice rang out.

The footman stepped aside to allow Bob into the den.

“That will be all, Ned,” Mr. Beaumont said. “Please close the doors behind you.”

“As you wish.”

With a click of the double doors, Bob was left alone with Lisa’s grandparents.

“Mr. Beaumont, Mrs. Beaumont, you both look—”

“What do you want, Bob?” Mrs. Beaumont asked, managing to sound both bored and infuriated at the same time.

Bob cleared his throat, mustering up all the charm and courage he had for his prepared pitch.

“Your Excellencies, I am here to beseech you for your help in an urgent matter—”

“If this has to do with that Vampiric Conspiracy,” Mr. Beaumont said, glaring at Bob, “the answer is no.”

Bob’s anger and desperation flared, but he did not let this show in his behavior or on his face.

“Please, at least hear me out…for the sake of your granddaughter.”

The Beaumonts exchanged a look. Mrs. Beaumont nodded. Mr. Beaumont scowled, then sighed.

“Very well. Continue.”

“Andrew is coming for me,” Bob resumed. “I know that he’s going to file a case against me with the police. It’s not going to stick, though.”

Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont waited, their eyes narrowed as they waited for Bob to get to his point.

“All of the evidence against me is purely circumstantial. It will never hold up in court. I will be back in the political arena before you know it.”

Mr. Beaumont arched a brow at him.

“Then what, may I ask, do you need from us?”

“A lawyer. The same lawyer that you got for me to help me out of the murder charges.”

“I don’t know, Bob. That lawyer is quite expensive, and his…creative methods in cases like yours are even more so. We don’t even have a guaranteed return on our investment.”

“I told you, the evidence is circumstantial—”

“Did you do it?” Mrs. Beaumont asked.

“W-what?” Bob stuttered.

“You heard my wife,” Mr. Beaumont replied. “Did you do it?”

Bob lifted his chin defiantly.

“Of course not. What motive would have to do such a thing?”

Mr. Beaumont twisted his ostentatious wedding ring on his finger, examining it as though it were far more of interest than this conversation.

“You and I both know that there are plenty of reasons for you to have done it,” Mr. Beaumont said. “The real question is, should we take a risk on you when you will go so far and then get caught so easily?”

“I told you—”

“Yes, yes, circumstantial,” Mr. Beaumont said. “If you were truly certain of that, though, you would not be so desperate for our lawyer and our help.”

Bob’s anger and desperation were starting to reach a boiling point, and he was having a hard time controlling both.

“It’s just a little security—”

“You’ve already been condemned in the court of public opinion. Frankly, in politics, that’s all that really matters. Your cause is lost, my boy.”

Bob felt all the color rush out of his face.

“No. I swear, I can make a comeback. We just need to angle it in a similar way to last time.”

Mr. Beaumont waved his hand dismissively.

“You’re done, Bob. We’re done.”

Bob opened his mouth to protest, but Mr. Beaumont held his hand up to silence him.

“Now, leave our presence—and our lives—forever.”

Bob’s eyes flashed angrily, but he turned toward the double doors.

“Oh, and Bob?” Mrs. Beaumont said. When she had his attention, she continued, “Leave Lisa immediately.”

Bob’s nostrils flared. Without a word, he stormed out of the den and the mansion for the last time.