Chapter 5
The tension in the ruined kitchen was thick enough to cut with one of the melted chef's knives lying nearby. Victor Vance adjusted the cuffs of his expensive white shirt, completely unbothered by the soot staining the toes of his Italian leather shoes. He cast a brief, dismissive glance down at Clara, who remained crouched near the charred wall studying the detonator casing.
“And I see your staff is still performing domestic duties even amid a crime scene,” Victor remarked smoothly, his voice dripping with condescension. “Really, Arthur, maintaining a kitchen crew after a multi-million-dollar disaster feels a bit like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.”
Arthur stepped half an inch closer to his cousin, his broad shoulders blocking Victor’s line of sight to Clara. “Clara saved a life last night, Victor. Something you’ve never managed to do in your entire corporate career. Now, state your business or get off my property before I have security physically remove you.”
Victor’s smile didn’t reach his cold, gray eyes. He calmly tapped his leather briefcase against his thigh. “The board called an emergency meeting for tomorrow morning at the Manhattan headquarters, Arthur. With the main manor compromised and the historical records presumably reduced to cinders, the acquisition vote moves forward whether you approve or not. You can’t fight the majority without the original 1998 charter documents to prove your voting block.”
Clara’s heart skipped a beat. The 1998 charter. That was the exact year of the missing ledger Victor had supposedly stolen from Arthur’s private study the week prior. The fire wasn’t just an act of corporate intimidation; it was a calculated strike to eliminate the physical proof of Arthur’s controlling stake in the company.
“The charter is safe,” Arthur lied smoothly, his face an absolute mask of unreadable granite. “You’ll find that my legal protections are far more robust than a single wooden wall, Victor.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, a micro-expression of genuine surprise flashing across his face before he masked it with his trademark smirk. “We shall see, cousin. We shall see. Bring your chef to the city if you like—she might find the corporate kitchen in Manhattan more to her refined tastes. Though I doubt she’ll be rescuing any dogs from skyscrapers.”
With a final, mocking nod, Victor turned on his heel and strode back through the charred French doors, his footsteps crunching rhythmically away across the patio.
Arthur waited until the sound of Victor’s luxury sedan engine faded into the distance before letting out a long, controlled breath. He looked down at Clara, who had risen to her feet, her face tight with realization.
“He knows,” Clara said quietly, wiping a smudge of soot from her cheek with the back of her wrist. “Victor stole that ledger because the 1998 charter gives you absolute veto power over the board’s acquisition deals. When he realized you might have backups or that the document wasn’t where he expected, he had someone plant that bomb to destroy the rest of the historical cache.”
“And now he thinks I’m vulnerable,” Arthur said, his jaw tightening. He looked around the ruined kitchen one last time before turning toward the carriage house. “He thinks the fire wiped out everything. But he’s wrong.”
May you like
Clara followed him back toward the safety of the east room, a sudden wave of apprehension washing over her. “What do you mean, Arthur? If the physical ledgers are gone, how do we prove anything to the board?”
Arthur stopped at the threshold of the carriage house door and turned to look her directly in the eyes. “Because my father never trusted digital servers, and he never fully trusted paper ledgers kept in one place. There’s a secondary vault—a cold-storage archive built into the foundation beneath the old wine cellar. It survived every fire, flood, and family betrayal for the last century.”
