Chapter 2 - The Long Shadow of the Past
Nathan’s scotch glass froze halfway to his mouth. For a split second, a flicker of genuine confusion crossed his eyes, quickly masked by a scornful laugh.
“Who are you calling, Evelyn? The maid? Your deadbeat uncle?” Nathan scoffed, taking a slow step forward. “Let’s get one thing straight. This house is under my corporate holdings. The courts signed off this morning, and the local precinct captain is a personal guest at my club. You have no money, no leverage, and no family left. Put the phone down before I have security drag you out into the snow.”
Evelyn didn't blink. She didn't drop her gaze. She simply let the phone rest against her ear, listening to the deep, rhythmic breathing on the other end of the encrypted satellite line.
Her father, Victor Vance—a man the corporate world had whispered about in terrified hushes decades ago before his sudden, calculated disappearance from the public eye—was listening. And unlike the local police captain Nathan had so easily bought, Victor Vance did not operate within the bounds of municipal favors or county jurisdiction.
“You always mistook cruelty for power, Nathan,” Evelyn said, her voice cutting through the silent room like a razor. “You thought because you isolated me from your social circles, I was entirely alone. You never bothered to look up who owned the underlying land deed of Blackthorn Manor. You only looked at the surface management shell.”
Celeste finally set her shaking champagne glass down on the glass coffee table, the wine spilling over the rim in a dark crimson puddle. “Nathan, make her stop talking. She’s bluffing. Look at her—she’s broke!”
“She is bluffing,” Nathan insisted, though a bead of cold sweat suddenly traced its way down his temple. The absolute lack of fear in Evelyn’s eyes was beginning to unravel his carefully constructed composure. He strode forward, snapping his fingers. “Give me that phone.”
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Before Nathan’s hand could close around her wrist, the heavy iron-reinforced front doors of Blackthorn Manor didn’t just open—they shuddered violently as a heavy exterior latch released with a mechanical click.
A low, rhythmic rumble of heavy-duty diesel engines began to vibrate through the estate's floorboards.
