A Fake Heiress’s Guide to Love and Power novel Chapter 413

For the past hour and a half, Hamilton had all but worn a trench in the lobby carpet. Every half hour, he’d send his butler to the front desk to ask for an update. More than once, he’d nearly stormed out, but the thought of that document kept him tethered in place.

By the time he drained his third glass of water, Hamilton’s patience was well and truly exhausted.

“Does a meeting really have to take this long?” he snapped as the receptionist approached once again.

“I’m terribly sorry for keeping you waiting, Mr. Quincy. Please, follow me.” The receptionist’s professional smile never faltered as she led Hamilton to the elevator.

She pressed the button for his floor and offered him another polite smile as the doors slid shut, only returning to her station once the elevator had whisked him away.

Upstairs, someone was already waiting outside the elevator, ready to show him the way.

Only then did Hamilton’s scowl soften a fraction.

At the office door, the assistant opened it and gestured for Hamilton to enter. His butler tried to follow, but the assistant blocked him with a

raised hand.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Hamilton’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Tate has requested that only you go in, Mr. Quincy. It is an office, after all–if anything were to go missing, things could get

complicated. I’m sure you understand?”

The assistant’s smile was polite, but the implication made Hamilton bristle.

“So you think my butler would steal something?”

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“Of course not. But when you scheduled the appointment, you only registered yourself.”

Hamilton’s hand trembled on his cane.

“I’ll wait right outside, sir,” the butler murmured, bowing his head, sacrificing his own dignity so Hamilton could proceed without further trouble.

Hamilton knew this was Max’s way of taking revenge–and worse, he’d handed him the opportunity on a silver platter. The thought made his chest tighten with frustration, but he had no choice but to play along.

He opened the door, only to find himself in a reception office. Max’s actual office was through another set of doors at the back.

“Mr. Tate, Mr. Quincy is here,” the assistant announced, knocking on the

door.

“Send him in,” came the reply.

The assistant gave Hamilton a slight smile, held the door, and gestured for him to step inside.

Hamilton let out a cold huff, tapping his cane against the floor with a sharp rap as he straightened his back and entered.

“Hamilton, I apologize for making you wait. Work’s been madness lately.” Max stood to greet him, his smile polite yet predatory—a wolf in a

well–tailored suit.

Hamilton shot daggers at the three people in the room, making no effort to hide his contempt.

Alessia didn’t even bother pretending to be cordial. She lounged on the sofa, not sparing Hamilton so much as a glance.

“Let’s just get to the point. What do you want for the document?” Hamilton didn’t wait for pleasantries, dropping onto the sofa with a heavy sigh.

Max’s smile widened as he sat across from him. Alessia straightened up,

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inching closer to Max’s side. Bacchus, ever the spectator, perched at Max’s desk, content to observe the drama from a safe distance.

“Well, let’s hear it. What are your terms?” Hamilton’s tone was curt, but even with the leverage in Max’s hands, he would not be cowed. In his eyes, Max was just a rookie playing petty games.

A kid fresh out of college, Hamilton thought. This is the best he can do? Petty revenge, nothing more.

“It’s simple,” Max replied. “Have Tammie apologize to my brother in front of both schools and admit that he pushed him on purpose.”

“Absolutely not!” Hamilton shot back without hesitation.

Tammie was the Quincy family’s last hope. He could not–would not–allow even the smallest stain on Tammie’s record. Even if the boy never became a great artist, Hamilton would make sure he was seen as one. And an artist, he believed, couldn’t afford a single blemish on his reputation.

Max didn’t look the least bit surprised by Hamilton’s refusal. His smile remained perfectly intact, unbothered.

“There’s a second option,” Alessia piped up, batting her eyes innocently as she delivered her chilling suggestion. “Break Tammie’s hand. Don’t worry, we’ll have it set afterward. He’ll just need a couple of weeks to recover.”

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