The Fall of East: Book 3 in the Hear No Evil Trilogy Malone, Nana (good fiction books to read .TXT) 📖

I could identify them easily, even if they were wearing robes and masks. Rowan Downs, Adam Hilton, Blake Boynton, Jace McClaren, and then finally, Taron Davies. The Five stepped back, giving Ben space to speak. I held my breath.

There was no telling how either Jameson would react. This was happening. But we were prepared for it. We had anticipated it. We were ready to move. And there was a part of me, of course, that worried about Nyla outside on watch, praying she didn’t do anything rash.

Who are you kidding? Of course she’ll do something rash.

Ben stood at the center, surrounded by the voting members. When he spoke, his voice was clear.

"The majority of you chose me as your Director Prime. And in the last three months, I have proposed the changes that the Elite must go through to survive and evolve in accordance with the dynamics of present society. As you all know, we’ve been dealt a blow. A number of our members are no longer with us because they have committed unlawful acts for which they were inevitably brought to justice. Even our power couldn't keep them from that. Even our power couldn't protect them. Not that they deserved it. They made their choice to go against our tenets, and now they are paying the price. Those men are cowards. They are weak."

There was a murmur. But they hadn’t heard the best part yet. I'd been waiting for this.

Ben took off his mask then, and there was a hushed silence in the room. "These masks don't protect us. What I have to say, I can say without the necessity of covering my face. As Director Prime it is my job to make sure we withstand the tests of time. It is my job to make sure we endure. Ensure that we prosper. We cannot do that if we continue as we have.”

There was more murmuring. Some nodding along as if they’d been waiting for someone to right the ship for years. Others shifted on their feet uncomfortably.

“We will start by making changes to our selection processes.”

That started the first uproar. Which we anticipated.

The Five attempted to take control, but it was Ben holding his hands up that got everyone settled.

“Sons of the Elite will always be invited, but so will the best and brightest who are not our sons. And all will be tested to the breaking points. Some will not persevere. But from now on we will truly only accept the Elite. If you believe your sons worthy, then you will have no issue.”

That quieted everyone down. After all, if they were truly Elite, their sons would be fine. Or so they thought.

“Additionally, there are men in here who are seditious, who seek to break traditions and laws of our society to replace me in a masked bid for power. So I’ve removed my own mask. If you want power, come and take it. But before you do, let me explain a few things to you."

Several members shifted on their feet. "Garreth Jameson…" He turned and pointed right at Garreth. How he'd known it was him, I had no idea. "This man stands before you looking every bit like he's one of us, but he's not.” Ben paused for effect. “He is a wanted art forger. Matter of fact, Interpol will be arresting him this evening once we leave.” Ben kept going as if he hadn’t dropped a bombshell. “Additionally, he is not the son of Walter Jameson." He pointed at who everyone knew to be Lord Jameson to the left of Garreth. "Lord Walter Jameson died in Italy thirty years ago. That man is an impostor. His real name is Henry Warlow."

Warlow ripped off his mask. "This is p-p-preposterous. These are lies."

Ben smirked menacingly and then stepped forward. He reached into his robe and pulled forth the one piece of evidence that was the most damning. Henry Warlow's mug shot. It had taken some work to unearth that, but Henry Warlow had been arrested in his youth. It wasn't so much that the photo looked like Lord Jameson now. It was that the photo looked exactly like Garreth Jameson. "This photo is of Henry Warlow from thirty years ago. Henry Warlow was posing as a student in Italy. He'd ingratiated himself upon the young Lord Walter Jameson and his friends, including Marcus Van Linsted. This man"—he pointed his finger at Warlow again, who was now sputtering and backing away, but our guard blocked his path—"traded places with him after Walter Jameson died under mysterious circumstances."

Warlow sputtered some more, stumbling forward. "That's a lie. This is all a lie. That photo has been doctored."

Ben nodded sagely. "I anticipated that accusation. You can see the signatures of Interpol representatives here and here.” He indicated the signatures. “These documents, in fact, point out that this photo is of a man called Henry Warlow. Not Lord Walter Jameson. Thirty-two years ago, on April thirtieth, Henry Warlow stowed away on a boat for a regatta with Walter Jameson and his mates, including Marcus Van Linsted. During the regatta, there was an accident, or so the newspapers say. During that accident, all the young men were in the water for several hours, waiting until someone rescued them. One gentleman was pulled out of the water, having been injured by a blow from the mast of the sailboat to the face, and he was severely battered. His face was so mangled that he required reconstructive surgery. But he was identified by the clothing he wore by none other than Marcus Van Linsted, who we all now know is not to be trusted."

There was a hush around the room again.

Ben continued, looking every bit the confident Viking as he strode around, throwing his swagger about.

"That man, Henry Warlow, has infiltrated our organization for decades, manipulating us in markets, in favors, in order to increase his wealth, his power. But he's nothing more than a common thief. Henry Warlow was a known associate of the renowned