Chapter 3 - The Traitor’s Panic
In the grand dining room, the dessert plates had been cleared, but the atmosphere had grown suffocatingly tense.
Victor Langford stood near the marble fireplace, holding a snifter of cognac that he hadn't touched. His eyes darted continuously toward the library doors. It had been thirty minutes since Preston had excused himself with Ethan Brooks.
Why hasn't the poison worked yet? Victor’s mind raced violently beneath his cool, practiced smile. Did he drink it? He lifted the glass! I saw him lift it!
He replayed the scene in his head over and over again. The child pointing her little finger. The maid pulling her away. The security chief replacing the glass with sparkling water.
Did Brooks take the glass to test it?
A cold droplet of sweat trickled down the back of Victor’s neck beneath his crisp white collar. He wiped it away discreetly with a silk handkerchief. If the lab tested that wine, it wouldn't just be a failed merger—it would be a double-A murder charge and a life sentence in a maximum-security prison.
He turned toward his associate, a corrupt hedge fund manager named Marcus Vance who was also in on the Vanguard Apex deal.
“Marcus,” Victor whispered, stepping close under the cover of the ambient background chatter. “Get the car around to the side terrace. We’re leaving.”
Marcus frowned, sipping his champagne. “Now? Before the midnight toast? Preston hasn't even come back out to discuss tomorrow’s signing schedule.”
“Something’s wrong,” Victor hissed through his teeth. “The maid’s child saw the bottle. I don't know how much Brooks knows, but we can't be inside this house if the police show up.”
“What about the merger?” Marcus asked in a panicked whisper. “If Preston signs those papers at nine tomorrow morning, Vanguard Apex pulls our sixty million!”
“He won't sign those papers if he’s dead,” Victor growled under his breath. “We execute Plan B.”
“Plan B?” Marcus gasped. “Victor, you said the poison was clean! What is Plan B?!”
“Plan B is making sure the evidence dies tonight,” Victor whispered, his eyes flashing with desperate malice. “Both the glass... and the maid’s child who pointed her mouth at me.”
Before Marcus could answer, the double doors of the library swung open.
Preston Hale stepped back into the dining room. He looked entirely relaxed, a warm smile on his face, holding a fresh glass of sparkling water. Behind him walked Ethan Brooks, his posture casual, his hands resting naturally at his sides.
“My apologies, everyone,” Preston announced smoothly, walking toward the head of the table. “An urgent operational issue required my attention regarding tomorrow morning's factory logistics. Please, enjoy the rest of the evening.”
The guests smiled and resumed their conversations.
Victor’s heart slammed against his ribs as Preston’s eyes swept across the room and locked onto his. For a fraction of a second, Victor saw something behind Preston’s calm gray eyes—a cold, terrifying razor blade of absolute knowing.
Preston raised his water glass toward Victor.
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“To long partnerships, Victor,” Preston said, his voice echoing clearly over the room. “And to the secrets that finally come to light.”
Victor forced his lips into a smile, raising his cognac snifter with a hand that barely managed to stay still. “To the future, Preston. Whatever it holds.”
