"Someone wants to kill you? Isn't that the most normal thing in the world?" William said dismissively. "If you've got your eye on someone else's fortune, don't be surprised when they've got their eye on taking you out.
"We already talked about this a few months ago," William continued, his expression growing serious. "I'll say it again: while things haven't spiraled out of control yet, go back to England and live the quiet life of a nobleman and landowner."
William studied Charles, who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Letting out a sigh, he added, "The old Duke of Devonshire is in poor health. Don't push things to the point where he's forced to bury a younger relative. The shock could kill him. If you really care about him, stop chasing after wealth that doesn't belong to you."
Charles's expression twisted in frustration, his grip tightening on the whiskey glass in his hand. "You don't understand. That $3 billion fortune does belong to me. What's wrong with taking what's mine?"
Taking a deep gulp of his drink, Charles continued, his tone bitter. "Before my aunt passed, Uncle Marco himself admitted that her share of the estate should go to me. He even named me as one of the inheritors in his will.
"I've lived these past years without causing any trouble, so why should I step back now? Why should I quit while others plot against me? A few days ago, someone tried to kill me—kill me—and you're telling me to just give up?"
William sighed inwardly. When billions of dollars are involved, rationality tends to go out the window. Even for himself, wasn't he carefully orchestrating a plan to snatch the $4 billion sitting in the Banque de France's vaults? Within just three days, his scheme had already resulted in three deaths directly tied to him.
But unlike Charles, who was a distant relative he'd only met twice, William wasn't about to stick his neck out over a family squabble. Intervening openly in such a contentious inheritance dispute would only draw suspicion and resistance from everyone involved. Of course, doing things behind the scenes was an entirely different matter.
Right now, though, all he had was Charles's side of the story. There was no way William would make any promises and risk giving Charles leverage over him.
"Sorry," William said flatly. "You know I can't get involved. If I use family ties to meddle in someone else's private affairs, I'm inviting others to do the same with my own."
It was an excuse, of course. In reality, no one dared interfere in the business of someone as powerful as William Devonshire. But Charles didn't know that.
Frustrated by William's unwavering stance, Charles clenched his fists and pressed on. "Uncle once told me you have a network of people who specialize in helping nobles. Couldn't I hire someone from that group to protect me? I'm an English viscount, after all."
"A network for nobles?" William raised an eyebrow, then narrowed his eyes at Charles. "Listen carefully, Charles. I am William Devonshire, the Grand Duke of England. Other than serving as the de facto head of the nobility under Philip III and his family, I have no obligation to protect any noble—not even you.
"And let me make this clear," William continued, his voice steely. "Kingsman—ever since I took over—exists solely to serve me. No one else."
Charles couldn't help but roll his eyes at William's miserly demeanor. Still, he raised his hands in a placating gesture and apologized, "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed anything. I'm just a small-time viscount; of course, I wouldn't qualify for free protection.
"But what if I paid for it? Surely, I can at least hire bodyguards, right?"
William chuckled, swirling his drink lazily. "And how much are you willing to pay?"
"According to people in high places," Charles began cautiously, "your credibility is beyond reproach. If I pay, at least I know you won't want me dead. Isn't that right?"
"Correct," William replied with a faint smirk.
Encouraged by this, Charles leaned forward. "Based on the will, I stand to inherit around $3 billion. After taxes, I'd net roughly $1.8 billion. So here's my offer: $100 million a year for your protection."
"One year?" William's gaze sharpened as he studied Charles. "That almost sounds like you're expecting your uncle Marco to die within the year."
"How could you even suggest that?" Charles stammered, visibly flustered under William's piercing stare.
His confidence crumbled within seconds. Damn it, he thought. Everything I say just makes it worse with this guy. Panicking, he scrambled to sweeten the deal. "Fine. If you can guarantee my safety, I'll sell Château Margaux to you for $200 million—below market value."
William raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "And this is something you actually have the authority to promise?"
Though William's words stung, Charles forced himself to remain composed. He nodded firmly. "Yes. Buying Château Margaux was my aunt's idea, and the will stipulates that the estate must pass to me.
"William, Château Margaux is one of France's five Premier Cru wineries, on par with Lafite, Latour, Mouton, and Haut-Brion. Opportunities like this don't come often. If you miss this chance, who knows how many years you'll have to wait?"
William fell silent, mulling over the offer. Finally, he spoke. "If I remember correctly, a few months ago you told me you'd gift Château Margaux to me outright."
"I wanted to gift it to you," Charles admitted, shrugging. "But would you have really helped me for free? If you're willing to make that kind of commitment, I'd even throw in my uncle Marco's Formula 1 racing team."
The offer was tempting. Protecting Charles wouldn't cost much effort, and the rewards—one of the world's top wineries and a Formula 1 team—were enticing.
But William couldn't shake the feeling that things weren't as simple as they seemed. The presence of the Spitz couple, with their celebrity-like faces, added another layer of suspicion.
Moreover, if Marco Cavendish were to suddenly die after William got involved, no amount of explanations would clear his name.
"Here's the deal," William said finally. "As long as Marco is alive, I won't touch your affairs. However, since we're family, I'll send you two sets of bulletproof suits for personal protection."
Charles had been hopeful moments earlier, seeing William's momentary hesitation. But now, hearing what was essentially a polite refusal, he couldn't contain his anger.
This was the second time he'd swallowed his pride to plead with William, only to be turned down. Rising to his feet, he began pacing back and forth, muttering resentfully, "I only want protection. Why do both you and Uncle have to be so heartless? Are you just going to wait until I'm dead to regret it?"
"Shut up," William snapped, glaring at Charles. He leaned forward, his tone cold and probing. "Tell me honestly: you haven't made any underhanded moves, have you? You haven't schemed to claim the entire inheritance for yourself?"
Charles, faced with William's commanding presence and the cold logic of his question, slumped back into his seat, defeated.
"Someone wants to kill me. Am I not allowed to fight back?" Charles muttered bitterly. "Can't I play the role of the bystander, the 'sparrow,' watching while my enemies take each other out? Then, when the dust settles, I hand the evidence over to the authorities."
William let out a dry chuckle. "Not a bad idea. At least you're not a complete idiot."
But this exchange only deepened William's doubts. He decided he couldn't trust a single word Charles said.
"Charles," William said, his tone mocking yet icy, "did none of your high-society friends warn you? If you're going to act, never try to play games in front of me."
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American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
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I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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