Chapter 75 Alteroni's Money
COUNT ALTERONI
The intermediary's name is Julian Cross. Former pack Beta, now independent broker who moves money for supernaturals who need discretion. He's got offices in three cities and a reputation for never asking questions.
Perfect for what I need.
"Fifteen thousand pounds," I say, sliding the briefcase across his desk. "Untraceable. Clean transfer."
Julian doesn't open the case. Doesn't need to. We've done this dance before, just never with amounts this large.
"Recipient?" he asks.
"Rookeries. Community fund. Multiple accounts, different names. Make it look like donations from various sources." I lean back. "Can you do it?"
"I can do anything for the right price." He finally opens the briefcase. Stacks of cash, all unmarked bills. "This much money draws attention. Parliamentary oversight might notice."
"They won't. I've been careful with the paper trail. This cash came from personal investments, nothing connected to my seat." I've spent weeks setting this up. Selling art pieces, liquidating old holdings, creating layers between the money and my official position. "You just need to distribute it properly."
"To the packless wolves." Julian's not stupid. He reads newspapers, hears rumors. "The resistance everyone's talking about. Brennan's people."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." He closes the briefcase. "You know Parliament's planning extermination. Funding their targets is treason."
"Is it? I'm just donating to a community relief fund. Helping desperate wolves survive. Very charitable." I keep my voice level. "What they choose to spend the money on isn't my concern."
"Plausible deniability." Julian nods slowly. "Smart. But if Mordaunt discovers this, deniability won't save you."
"Then make sure he doesn't discover it."
Julian studies me. Four hundred years of existence has taught me to read people. Right now he's calculating risk versus reward, wondering if this job is worth the danger.
"Double my usual fee," he finally says.
"Done."
"And if I'm questioned, I never met you. This money came from anonymous donors. Multiple sources, like you said."
"Agreed."
He extends his hand. We shake.
"Three days," Julian promises. "Money will start flowing to Rookeries accounts. Different amounts, different timing, impossible to trace back to single source."
"Good." I stand. "One more thing. Weapons suppliers. I'll provide a list. Make sure some of this money reaches them with instructions to deliver to Rookeries addresses."
"You're arming them."
"I'm funding community defense. There's a difference."
"Not to Parliament." But he takes the list I offer. "Silver bullets, UV weapons, reinforced doors. This is military-grade equipment."
"They're facing military-grade threats. Parliamentary hunters." I head toward the door. "Three days, Julian. And absolute discretion."
"Always."
I leave through the back exit. Julian's office is in Camden, far enough from Parliamentary chambers that casual observers won't connect us. I've taken three different cars to get here, changed routes twice, made sure no one followed.
Paranoid? Maybe. But Mordaunt's got spies everywhere.
The drive back to my townhouse takes an hour. London traffic, even at night. Gives me time to think about what I just did.
Fifteen thousand pounds. Nearly a quarter of my liquid assets. Enough to buy weapons, fortify shelters, feed seventy wolves for months.
Enough to get me executed if Parliament discovers it.
But Lady Wessex was right. Doing nothing makes me complicit. I can't vote against extermination then watch it happen without trying to help.
This money might not save Callum's resistance. Probably won't. But it gives them a fighting chance.
That has to count for something.
My phone rings as I'm parking. Unknown number.
I answer carefully. "Yes?"
"Count Alteroni." The voice is female, young, frightened. "My name is Valentina Corvino. I got your message. The warning about the timeline."
The dhampir. I've never spoken to her directly, just sent messages through intermediaries.
"I can't talk long," I say, checking mirrors for surveillance. "This line isn't secure."
"I know. I'm calling from a burner phone, will destroy it after." She's smart. "I wanted to say thank you. The warning saved lives. We had time to prepare for the hunters."
"You're welcome." I keep scanning the street. No obvious watchers. "But I can't help more openly. My position is precarious."
"I understand." A pause. "But I need you to know something. We're not just surviving in the Rookeries. We're building community. Helping wolves Parliament abandoned. If you could see what we're doing, you'd know we're worth saving."
"I believe you."
"Do you?" Her voice sharpens. "Because Parliament's about to exterminate seventy-three wolves for the crime of organizing without permission. And only you and a handful of others voted against it."
Seventy-three now. Ten more than last count. They're still growing.
"I'm doing what I can," I say. "More than you know."
"Then keep doing it." She sounds desperate. "Because we need allies in Parliament. People who'll speak up, slow the process, make extermination politically costly."
"I'll do what I can," I repeat. Can't promise more than that.
"Thank you." She hangs up.
I sit in my car for ten minutes, making sure no one's watching, then head inside.
My townhouse is Georgian, expensive, perfectly maintained. Evidence of four hundred years of careful wealth management. Art on the walls, first editions in the library, wine cellar stocked with vintages older than most countries.
All of it feels hollow tonight.
I pour myself a drink and stand at the window overlooking Kensington. Rich neighborhood, powerful neighbors, the heart of vampire society.
Miles away, wolves huddle in Rookeries slums, waiting for Parliament to exterminate them.
The distance feels obscene.
My phone buzzes. Text from Julian.
Transfer initiated. First installments hitting accounts in 3 hours. Weapons orders placed.
I delete the message immediately.
Another buzz. Different number.
We need to talk. Come to my office tomorrow. 9 AM. - Mordaunt
My blood goes cold.
Mordaunt never requests meetings. He summons, he orders, he demands. The polite phrasing is worse than threats. Means he's being careful. Building a case.
Does he know? Did someone see the money transfer? Did Julian talk?
Or is this about something else entirely?
No way to know until tomorrow.
I pour another drink. The alcohol helps steady my hands.
Four hundred years I've survived by being careful. Playing politics, choosing battles, knowing when to fight and when to submit.
This might be the fight that ends me.
But at least I'll go down trying to do something right.
The night passes slowly. I don't sleep. Keep checking my phone, watching for more messages, waiting for hunters to break down my door.
Nothing happens.
Dawn comes. I shower, dress in my formal Parliamentary robes. Whatever Mordaunt wants, I'll face it properly.
The drive to his office takes twenty minutes. Mayfair, naturally. Mordaunt owns half the neighborhood.
His secretary waves me through immediately. That's bad. Means he's been waiting.
Mordaunt's office is all dark wood and expensive taste. He sits behind his desk looking perfectly composed.
"Count Alteroni." He doesn't stand. Power move. "Thank you for coming."
"You summoned me." I take the seat across from him uninvited. "What do you want?"
"Direct. I appreciate that." He steeples his fingers. "I wanted to discuss your recent activities."
My heart stops. "My activities?"
"Your opposition to the extermination order. Your vocal defense of the Rookeries wolves. Your attempts to delay Parliamentary action." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm concerned you're losing perspective."
Relief floods through me. He doesn't know about the money. This is about the vote.
"I voted my conscience," I say carefully.
"Your conscience is noted." He leans forward. "But I wanted to remind you that Parliamentary decisions, once made, require unity. You voted against extermination. Fine. But now that the order's passed, I expect your cooperation."
"What kind of cooperation?"
"Public support. Stop speaking against the order. Stop delaying implementation. Accept that the decision's made and move forward."
"Or what?"
"Or your opposition starts looking like treason." He says it casually. Like discussing the weather. "Continued resistance to Parliamentary authority could be interpreted as sedition. And sedition has consequences."
There it is. The threat wrapped in politeness.
"I understand," I say. Not agreeing. Just acknowledging.
"Good." He stands. "I'm glad we had this talk. I'd hate to see four hundred years of distinguished service end badly."
I leave before he can see my hands shaking.
In my car, I check my phone. Message from Julian.
Money's through. All accounts active. Weapons shipping tonight.
I delete it.
Another message. This one from unknown number.
Thank you for everything. - V
Valentina. Somehow she knows about the money. Probably has contacts watching financial movements.
I don't respond. Can't risk more communication.
But I feel something I haven't felt in centuries.
Pride.
I just committed treason against the most powerful vampire in London. Funded a resistance that'll probably be crushed. Put my own life at risk for wolves I've never met.
And I'd do it again.
Because Mordaunt's right about one thing.
Some things are worth four hundred years of distinguished service.
Some things are worth everything.