Chapter 4
The private study behind the grand ballroom smelled of aged leather, expensive scotch, and panic. Arthur paced across the imported Persian rug, his phone pressed hard against his ear as he listened to the endless ringing tone of his lawyer's private line. Outside the frosted glass doors, the muffled sounds of Elena and Julian talking with the venue manager drifted in, carrying the quiet authority of people who owned the building, the business, and the ground it stood upon.
"Pick up," Arthur muttered, his voice shaking as he dragged his free hand through his styled hair, ruining the gel. "Damn it, pick up the phone."
The line clicked, and a cold, tired voice answered on the other end. "Arthur? If this is about the reception cancellation fees, I told you—"
"Elena is here," Arthur hissed, cutting the lawyer off mid-sentence. "She walked in fifteen minutes ago. She’s alive. The car crash in Oregon—it didn't work. The Jane Doe they pulled from the water wasn't her, or someone switched the files before they reached the county coroner. I don't know how she did it, but she’s standing in the middle of the ballroom right now."
A long pause hung over the phone line. When the lawyer spoke again, all pretense of professional detachment was gone. "Did anyone see her? Are there cameras recording?"
"The venue feed is hooked directly to the security firm's cloud," Arthur said, his breath hitching. "And Julian is with her. That bastard from the corporate audit team. He hit me, Mark. He hit me in front of the catering staff and the floral crew. They know. Everything we filed to dissolve her share of the holding company relies on the probate court finalizing the death certificate next Tuesday. If she shows up in court alive, the judge won't just throw out the petition—he’ll look at the asset transfers."
"Listen to me very carefully," Mark said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You need to leave the venue immediately. Do not speak to her, do not sign anything, and do not answer any questions from the police if they arrive. Meet me at the downtown garage in twenty minutes. We need to liquidate whatever liquid accounts are left before she freezes the corporate ledgers."
Arthur ended the call with a trembling thumb. He tossed the phone onto the mahogany desk, where it clattered against a crystal decanter. He reached for his briefcase, snapping the latches open to grab the folder containing the emergency offshore transfer codes.
The heavy oak door of the study swung open without a warning knock.
May you like
Julian stood in the doorway, his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his dark green suede jacket. He didn't look angry; he looked like a man who had anticipated every single move on the board three turns in advance.
"Leaving so soon, Arthur?" Julian asked, stepping into the room and blocking the only exit. "The party downstairs is just getting started, and Elena wants a word about your signature on the corporate dissolution papers."
