Chapter 2 - The Fire in the Study
The thick mahogany doors of my study offered an illusion of quiet elegance, but behind them sat a parasite in a three-piece suit.
I didn't knock. I pushed the heavy doors open with enough force that the brass handles slammed against the wooden wainscoting with a sound like a rifle shot.
Harland was sitting in my leather armchair, a heavy crystal tumbler of twenty-year-old scotch resting on the desk beside my private ledgers. He was reviewing the estate’s monthly maintenance invoices, a silver fountain pen balanced between his manicured fingers. He looked comfortable, regal, and entirely at ease in an office he had no right to occupy in my absence.
When he looked up and saw me, his smug expression flickered, replaced instantly by a practiced, obsequious smile.
"Mr. Luca," Harland said smoothly, standing up and buttoning his jacket with practiced efficiency. "You're back early. I was just reviewing the quarterly household accounts. Is everything all right with the merger meeting?"
I didn't answer him. I walked slowly across the Persian rug, my boots making no sound. In my left hand, I held three-year-old Nora, her small, raw, ice-cold hand wrapped tightly in mine. She was wrapped in a plush cashmere throw blanket I had grabbed from the hallway lounge, looking tiny and bewildered against my side.
Harland’s eyes dropped to the child. A sharp, ugly twitch of irritation crossed his brow before he quickly smoothed his features back into polite professionalism.
"Nora," Harland said, his voice dropping into a stern, patronizing tone. "What did I tell you about wandering into Mr. Luca’s private wing? Your mother was instructed to keep you in the staff quarters."
"She didn't wander, Harland," I said. My voice wasn't loud. It was low, flat, and carrying the kind of terrifying weight that usually made international corporate boards freeze in place. "She was in the laundry room trying to scrub ink out of my white shirt with freezing water until her hands bled."
Harland blinked, taking a half-step back, sensing the shift in the air. "Ah. The shirt. I see. I apologize, Mr. Luca. Elena, her mother, was supposed to handle your wardrobe this morning, but she claimed to be ill. I caught this little one trying to hide in the pantry, and I simply reminded her that everyone on this estate earns their keep. I didn't realize she would take it upon herself to—"
"You told a three-year-old child," I interrupted, leaning forward over my mahogany desk, "that if people don't work, they don't get to stay here."
"It was a lesson in accountability, sir!" Harland stammered, his composure beginning to fray around the edges. "These people... servants of Elena's background, if you give them an inch, they take a mile. She has missed two shifts this week. I was merely ensuring that your household maintains the highest standards of discipline—"
Smash.
I picked up the crystal tumbler of scotch Harland had been drinking and shattered it against the stone fireplace hearth. Glass fragments and amber liquor sprayed across the marble.
Nora flinched, burying her face into my hip. I reached down, gently patting her shoulder, my gaze never leaving Harland’s pale, sweat-slicked face.
"My estate," I whispered, every word carved out of pure ice, "is not a work camp. Elena has worked for me for four years. She has never asked for a raise. She has never taken a sick day until today. And you used her fever to intimidate a baby into doing manual labor."
"Mr. Luca, you're misinterpreting my intentions—"
"Get out of my desk," I said.
Harland froze. "Sir?"
"Take your hands off my ledgers," I said, stepping around the desk until I stood inches from him. I towered over him, my shadow completely swallowing his small frame. "And sit on the couch in the corner. Do not speak. Do not move. If you touch your phone, I will personally throw you through that glass balcony window."
Harland swallowed hard, his face drained of all color. He backed away slowly, dropping onto the leather sofa like a man awaiting an executioner.
I picked up my desk phone, pressed the direct extension for my head of security, Marcus, and spoke into the receiver.
"Marcus," I said. "Bring two men to my study. And bring a medical team to the staff quarters immediately. Elena is sick. Nora has frostnip on her hands."
I hung up, looking down at Nora. The terror in her eyes was starting to melt, replaced by a quiet, wide-eyed wonder as she looked at me.
"Mr. Luca?" she whispered, tugging gently on my trousers. "Is Mr. Harland mad at me?"
May you like
I dropped to one knee, looking straight into her innocent face, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her forehead.
"No, Nora," I said, my voice softening into something I hadn't used in thirty years. "Nobody is mad at you. And nobody is ever going to make you work again."
