Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

Chapter 48

#Chapter 48 – Messages Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Victor wakes with a start as the van pulls into the driveway, sucking in a deep breath. The boys, Alvin tucked in beside him and Ian stretched across his stomach, shift with the disturbance.

“Are we home?” Ian asks, blearily blinking awake.

“Yes, baby,” Evelyn says, peeling Ian off Victor and pulling him up into her arms. Ian yawns and tucks his head against Evelyn’s shoulder, seeming to fall asleep again immediately.

“I’ll get number two,” Edgar says quietly as Victor stands up and stretches. Alvin doesn’t wake up at all, but continues to sleep, his jaw hanging open. Edgar laughs as he picks the little boy up.

“Edgar,” Victor says, “will you show Evelyn the improvements to the cottage? Beta Franklin will show you the ropes and answer any questions you might have.” Victor ends his sentence on a yawn, but Edgar understands, tossing him a smile and a salute as he follows Evelyn down the three short steps.

In the very back of the van, Amelia is packing up her travel bag with her phone and accessories.

“Did you have a good time, Amelia?” Victor asks as she comes towards the front of the van. “I’m sorry I disappeared with the boys –“

Amelia stops to give him a withering glare and then keeps walking without a word, rolling her eyes.

s**t. He’s in trouble. After everyone’s left the van Victor gives one more look over to make sure nothing was left behind and heads into the house himself. He hears the bedroom door slam upstairs and shakes his head, heading into his office. Better to let Amelia cool off.

Victor sits down hard in his desk chair, still exhausted from his night. He caught maybe two hours of sleep as the Betas packed up the camp, and then another on the ride home? Probably less? God, it

was going to be a long day.

“Sir?” There’s a gentle knock at his open door and Beta Stephen, his secretary, peeks his head in. Stephen is a diminutive, redheaded Beta – certainly on the small side for his position. He achieved the rank mostly via determination, aided significantly by his incredibly sharp intelligence. Victor had kept an eye on Stephen during the recruitment process and hired him as soon as he qualified.

“Come in, Beta.” Victor straightens his posture and spreads his hands out on the desk, working to steel himself the for day ahead. “Your notes?”

“I have three messages,” Stephen says, laying three files on the desk, “which I’ve deemed important enough for you to address today. The rest can wait.” Victor nods in dismissal, but Stephen ventures, “Coffee, sir?”

Victor smiles up at his friend. “Yes, Stephen,” he says. “Thank you, that sounds great.” Stephen returns the smile and heads to the kitchen.

The top folder contains only one piece of paper – a memo.

SATURDAY, 4:53 PM

RECEIVED A CALL FROM ALPHA JAMES WILLARD. REQUESTS RETURN CALL AT YOUR EARLIEST CONVENIENCE. PREFERRED CONTACT INFORMATION HAS BEEN UPLOADED TO YOUR PHONE.

Great, Victor things, grabbing his phone and flicking it on with his thumb. Finally some progress on this. He dials the number and gives his name to the secretary who answers, waiting patiently.

“Kensington,” a friendly voice booms through the phone. “Lovely to hear from you, my boy, though I admit I didn’t expect it to take so long.”

Victor bristles a little bit at the “my boy” comment, but moves out without acknowledging it. “Just spending a little time with my family, after their shock,” he says, keeping his voice friendly. “We’re back now, defenses reinforced. I’m glad to hear from you.”

“I’ve come up with an answer to your request,” Willard says. “But I have to say, Kensington…you’re not going to like it.”

“Tell me,” Victor says, bracing himself.

“I’ll have the girl declared Rogue and banished, but in exchange I want half your Beta force,” Willard says. Victor goes rigid at the demand but holds his tongue. “In even exchange, of course. I will send you an equal number of my Betas. But Victor, I want half of what you’ve got. I’ll check.”

Victor shakes his head, biting his tongue. He has been working for twenty years on his Beta program – there’s a reason why his Betas are the best trained, the best prepared – the finest protection and service force in the country. They’re an invaluable assert. It’s a monstrous request.

“Fine,” Victor grinds out. “I consent to this. Have the paperwork drawn up, I’ll have my lawyers look it over. We’ll do this fast.”

“Excellent!” Willard says, pleased with the deal and sounding a little bit surprised at the ease with which it was completed. “I’ll do just that. You stay in touch now, my boy,” he says kindly, and then hangs up the phone.

Victor sits back in his seat, wondering how he got so played. Usually, this sort of request between one Beta and another is a formality, the exchange of favors. But Willard knew, somehow, that this was a top priority for Victor – that he’d pay any price. And so he asked for top dollar.

This agreement would not only leave Victor financially strapped – he’d have to put a great deal of work and effort into training the new Betas – but without his usual level of protection. This could leave him

open to threats from many angles…

The thoughts spin in Victor’s head and he sits up straighter at his desk, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. He could face it all. He built up this pack from scratch twenty years ago – he could do it again.

Victor opens the second folder on his desk, hoping for better news. He’s happy to see that it is. This folder is thicker, a report from his reconnaissance team regarding the identity of the journalist who was taking photographs of himself and his family at the theme park.

Victor flips through the pages but is frustrated to see that they don’t contain much useful insight. The journalist is a staff writer, but a new one – hungry for a big break that will be his making in the news world. He’s well connected to gossip columnists, quite happy to take bribes…

“Stephen,” Victor calls out to the kitchen as he continues to flip through the packet. Stephen enters promptly and slides a mug of coffee onto Victor’s desk. Victor nods at the coffee in thanks and then continues. “Stephen, do we have any insight about how this journalist came up with the idea to take pictures of me that day?”

“Sir?” Stephen inquires.

“It’s just that,” Victor sighs and closes the folder, not finding anything new, “it’s not that I’m not used to people taking pictures of me, I get that I’m a public figure. It’s just that people don’t usually do it unless it’s at an event, or when I’m with Amelia. Me living my life as a normal guy doesn’t get much news.”

Stephen nods, understanding, but waiting for Victor to continue. He does. “So how did this photographer know that I’d be at the theme park that day? With precisely the group of people he’d want to take pictures of if he wanted to break a big story? How did he know?”

Victor looks out the window, pondering the question, and Stephen tightens his lips, looking down at the floor. Victor glances at him and sees his expression. “What? What are you thinking?”

“Well, Sir,” Stephen says, “it seems like…the news is getting out, Sir. I can’t tell you how,” he shrugs, “and I wouldn’t accuse any of the Betas who are part of the family team, we’re all very loyal. But somewhere, somehow, someone has leaked the information to interested parties. This reporter may not have known why Evelyn and the boys are important to you. But he knows that they are.”

Victor nods, thinking it over, and Stephen clears his throat. “Sir? If I may?” Victor nods his consent. “Sir, I wonder if it might not be wise for you to move up your plans to claim the boys as your own.”

“What?” Victor frowns in confusion. “Why would I do that? It’s a complicated process – we need lawyers –“

“The news is getting out, Sir. Sooner may be better than later.” With this, Stephens gives the final folder on Victor’s desk a significant look, then salutes, turns, and walks out the door.

Victor watches him go, baffled. Then, he pulls the final folder closer.

This, too, only has a single sheet of paper. A handwritten note, on personal stationary. It only contains one sentence.

We need to talk.

The note is signed elegantly in fountain pen, but Victor drops it to the floor without looking. He already knows what it says.

John Walsh.