Chapter 5: The Ledger of Debts
The Vance family office was a room designed to intimidate debtors and business rivals alike. Dark mahogany bookshelves lined every wall, filled with leather-bound ledgers dating back to the nineteenth century. Behind a massive oak desk sat Viktor, his dark suit jacket draped over the back of his leather chair. On the corner of the desk sat a small, locked metal lockbox containing the only photograph of Clara that hadn't been hidden away, alongside a collection of legal documents that dictated the terms of Custa’s upbringing.
The door opened with a soft click, and Eleanor stepped inside, holding a cup of steaming black coffee. She placed it on the corner of the desk without a word, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on Custa, who was sitting quietly on a Persian rug in the corner, playing with a set of heavy brass bookends.
"The board of directors called from Chicago," Eleanor said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They are asking about the boy. Specifically, they want to know if his name has been formally entered into the corporate trust yet. They know about the misspelling on the banquet card. Word travels fast when you employ staff who lack discretion."
Viktor didn't look up from the document he was reviewing. A red pen scratched angrily across the paper. "Let them ask. Custa is three years old. The trust doesn't transfer until his eighteenth birthday, provided he survives the training."
"Training?" Eleanor let out a dry, humorless laugh. "You call locking him in the nursery and starving him of affection training? You're raising a ghost, Viktor. Just like Clara."
"Clara died because she tried to run into a world that would have eaten her alive," Viktor snapped, slamming his pen down onto the desk. The sound made Custa flinch in the corner, though the boy quickly resumed balancing a heavy brass horse on its nose. "Here, he is protected by stone walls, armed guards, and absolute control. Outside, there are people who would strip the Vance name for spare change."
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"Or people who would teach him how to love," Eleanor countered softly, her gaze drifting toward the window. For a split second, the impenetrable armor of the matriarch slipped, revealing the deep, irreparable fracture at the heart of the family. "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we had let her stay?"
Viktor stood up, his muscular frame blocking the light from the desk lamp. "We don't have the luxury of wonder, Eleanor. We have a legacy to maintain, and a boy who needs to learn that the world outside these gates is an enemy."
