Page 50 of He Knows When You're Awake

I lean back in my chair, letting him see how little his words affect me. “Are you done? You’re starting to sound like a B-rate movie villain.”

“You think this is funny?”

“I think you’re a problem I need to deal with before my nine o’clock.” I check my watch. “But maybe I should reconsider my priorities.”

The tension in the room thickens. Julian’s always had a way of filling a space with his anger, letting it seep into every corner.

“Five years, Cole,” he says, his voice tight. “Five years since her accident, and you’ve kept her final collection locked away where no one can see it. Where I can’t touch it.”

“That’s how it has to be.”

Julian goes quiet, his eyes fixed on something distant. When he speaks again, his voice has changed, almost soft with memory.

“Remember when I found you? Barely twenty-five, brilliant but broke.” His voice shifts to something almost nostalgic. “You had that pathetic little office in Brooklyn. I knew you had the eye for this business.” He smiles thinly. “I made you, Cole. I brought you into our world. Into Claire’s world.”

“You saw an opportunity,” I correct him. “Don’t pretend it was charity.”

Julian’s eyes drift to the desk between us.

“You insisted on keeping this exact desk. The one where we made our first real deal.” His gaze shifts to the right drawer. “The one where you started keeping the gun, after Moscow.” He meets my eyes. “Still in there, isn’t it? Still loaded?”

I don’t answer. We both know it’s there. The weight of it has been a constant reminder of what this business used to be. What I used to be.

“But you’d never use it, would you?” Julian’s voice drips contempt. “Not the great Cole Asher. Too civilized now. Too weak.” He stands, planting his hands on my desk. “I built this business with you. The real business. The one that got us here. While you were playing with spreadsheets, I was getting my hands dirty. Making the hard choices.”

“You mean killing people who got in your way.”

“I did what was necessary. What you couldn’t stomach doing yourself.” He straightens.

“I want that case, Cole. Those designs are my legacy.”

“You mean you want to pass them off as newly discovered designs,” I say coldly. “Profit from her name one more time.”

“I know that’s whatyouplan on doing! I’ve heard you have a topsecret collection you’re working on. I know what you’re doing. I’m not fucking stupid. Those designs aren’t yours to use as your own. They’re my right. She was my wife.”

“And now she’s gone.” The accusation remains unspoken between us.

He straightens. “You always were a self-righteous little prick.”

I sigh. “Are you done? Because I am.” I’m not going to give Julian even a sliver of information on what I have planned. Let him think what he wants.

I watch him pace, three steps left, three steps right. The same pattern he’s followed since we were young and hungry, plotting our way to the top. Some habits die hard.

“You know I won’t stop,” Julian adds. “If I can’t have the originals, I’ll create them. The ‘Immortal Claire Collection’ launches in February one way or the other. Pieces she was ‘working on’ before her accident.” His smile cuts like glass. “The world is so hungry for her genius, they’ll believe anything.”

“Forgeries,” I say flatly.

“Call it what you want. Who could prove otherwise? You? The man who kept her final work hidden for five years? And you cantryto beat me to the punch with her half-finished stuff, but there’s no way you can beat me to February.”

I keep my expression neutral despite the contempt rising within me.

“I’ll have those designs, Cole. One way or another.”

“The case will stay locked.”

He laughs, cold and knowing. “You know... when Claire died”—his voice catches, a perfect performance of grief—“I needed time. And you used it against me. Turned everything I built into your sanitized corporate fantasy.”

“When she went off that cliff,” I say carefully, watching his face.