Chapter 7: Dawn at the Manor
The morning sun struggled to pierce the heavy, leaden clouds hanging over the Manhattan skyline, casting a dull gray light across the limestone facade of Arthur Sterling’s townhouse. Inside the master suite, the atmosphere was thick with silence. Arthur stood before the mahogany dressing mirror, adjusting his silk tie with mechanical precision. His reflection showed a man of absolute control—gray hair neatly combed, expression hardened into a mask of corporate invincibility.
Beatrice sat on the edge of the velvet-upholstered bed, dressed in a muted charcoal skirt suit that contrasted sharply with her glittering evening gown from the night before. Her face was a masterclass in controlled exhaustion.
“You went too far last night, Arthur,” Beatrice said, her voice flat, devoid of the panic she had displayed in the ballroom. “Choking a pregnant woman in front of half the city’s elite? The social columns are going to have a field day by noon.”
Arthur turned slowly from the mirror, his intense gaze locking onto his wife. A cold, sardonic smile touched his lips. “Let them talk. By noon today, the Vance family will be entirely dismantled, and Elena will have signed away every last percentage of the biotech patents. Scandal is easily buried under mountains of new wealth, Beatrice. You should know that by now.”
He walked over to the bed, standing uncomfortably close to her, towering over her seated frame. He reached out, his fingers trailing callously down the side of her cheek. Beatrice suppressed a shudder of revulsion, forcing herself to maintain steady eye contact.
“You will accompany me to the board meeting,” Arthur commanded, his tone leaving no room for refusal. “You will sit in the second row, look pretty, and say nothing. Do we understand each other?”
“Of course, Arthur,” Beatrice replied smoothly, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She checked her diamond-encrusted wristwatch. It was precisely eight-fifteen. Julian and Elena were already inside the perimeter of the estate’s secondary gate.
Arthur grunted in satisfaction, picking up his leather briefcase from the mahogany luggage rack. “Good. We leave in ten minutes. Make sure you don't keep me waiting.”
As Arthur strode out of the master bedroom, his heavy footsteps echoing down the long carpeted hallway, Beatrice let out a long, shuddering breath. She reached into her handbag, pulled out a sleek encrypted burner phone, and pressed speed-dial one.
May you like
The call connected on the second ring.
“He’s moving,” Beatrice whispered into the receiver. “You have forty-five minutes before he realizes his wall safe has been compromised.”
