All These Things I've Done (Birthright #1)(39)

‘Come again?’

‘I can’t have you dating Win. We’re both practical people, Anya. We’re both realists. So I know you’ll understand me. My job is very difficult. The truth is, no matter how hard I try to clean up this city, I still may fail.’ Charles Delacroix lowered his head, as if the weight of his responsibilities was too much to bear.

‘Let me begin again. Do you know what they called my predecessor, Anya? The Cookie-Jar Prosecutor, a moniker she received because she had her crooked hands in so many people’s pockets, including – I would be remiss not to mention it – Balanchine Chocolate.’

‘I don’t know anything about that.’

‘Of course not, Anya. Why would you? You have the last name; you don’t write the cheques. And my predecessor’s interests, to put it politely, were broad. Here’s how it works. Rationing and well-meaning – if pointless – bannings beget black markets, and black markets beget poverty, pollution and, of course, organized crime, and organized crime begets corruption, and all this has turned our government into a place where cookie-jar bureaucrats of every stripe can thrive. It is my personal mission to root these bureaucrats out. I will not be known as a cookie-jar prosecutor. But if my son begins dating the daughter of Leonyd Balanchine, the notorious chocolate boss, it will have the appearance of impropriety. It will be a hit to my credibility. I can’t afford to take such a hit. This once magnificent city can’t afford for me to take such a hit. It isn’t your fault, and I very much wish the world were a different place. The people – they’re prejudiced, Anya. They rush to judgement. I’m sure you know this better than anyone.’

‘Mr Delacroix, I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood. Win and I are just friends.’

‘Good. I was hoping you’d say that,’ Win’s father replied.

‘Besides, if you don’t want me to date Win, why don’t you forbid him?’ I asked. ‘You’re his father, not mine.’

‘Because if I forbid him, he’ll only want you more. My son is a good boy, but he’s contrary, romantic and idealistic. His life has been too easy. He’s not practical like you and me.’

The ship horn sounded. We were about to dock.

‘So, do we have an agreement?’ Charles Delacroix asked me. He held out his hand for me to shake.

‘My father always said that you shouldn’t make an agreement unless you know exactly what you’re going to get out of it,’ I said.

‘Good girl,’ Charles Delacroix said. ‘I admire your spirit.’

The boat arrived at the dock. I could see Simon Green waiting for me on the shore. With what energy I had left, I ran to him and away from Charles Delacroix.

Someone I didn’t know called out, ‘It’s her! It’s Anya Balanchine!’

I turned towards the voice and was temporarily blinded by a lightning storm of camera flashes. Once my vision returned, I could see a blue police barricade to the right of where Simon Green stood. Behind the barricade were at least fifty reporters and paparazzi, all shouting questions at once.

‘Anya, look over here!’

Despite myself, I did.

‘Anya, how was Liberty?’

‘A vacation,’ I replied.

‘Any plans to sue the city for wrongful imprisonment?’

I felt Charles Delacroix put his arm around me. Another wave of flashbulbs.

‘Please, people. Miss Balanchine has been very brave and helpful, and I imagine she’d just like to get home to be with her family. You can talk to me all you want, of course,’ Charles Delacroix said.

‘Mr Delacroix, any leads on how the chocolate supply was contaminated?’

‘The investigation is still active. That’s all I can say for now,’ Mr Delacroix said. ‘What I can tell you is that Miss Balanchine is one hundred per cent innocent.’

‘Mr Delacroix, regarding District Attorney Silverstein’s health. No one’s seen him in public for weeks.’

‘I don’t make it a practice to comment on my boss’s health,’ Mr Delacroix replied.

‘Should you be considered the acting district attorney?’

Mr Delacroix laughed. ‘When I’ve got an announcement to make, you’ll be the first to know.’

While Mr Delacroix continued to talk to the press, I was able to slip away.

Simon Green had a private car waiting for me. This was a real luxury back then – most everyone took public transportation or walked – and I appreciated the gesture. The last time I had ridden in a private car had been when Gable and I went to prom and, before that, for my father’s funeral. ‘I thought you’d want some privacy,’ Simon Green said as he held the door open for me.

I nodded.

‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t counting on that circus. On that level of interest in you.’

‘Charles Delacroix probably wanted the photo op,’ I said, as I slipped into the leather seat.

‘Yes, you’re probably right,’ Simon Green agreed. ‘Though he seemed like a very nice man when I was arranging the details of your release on the phone this morning. Once I was able to get through to him myself, that is.’

‘He was about what you’d expect,’ I said.

The car had started moving. I rested my head on the window.