Chapter 7 - The Unseen Invitation
Two weeks later, the corporate world was still reeling from the fall of Vance Global. The hostile takeover executed by Alexander Reed had rewritten the economic landscape of the city, cementing Reed Enterprises as an undisputed monopoly in tech, shipping, and logistics.
Yet, inside the grand estate, the mood was surprisingly domestic.
Evelyn had insisted on moving back to her small cottage in the suburbs—at least for three days a week—refusing to let her garden wither away just because her son lived in a marble fortress. Alexander, realizing that no amount of security guards could substitute for genuine family time, had started clearing his schedule by 6:00 PM every single evening.
It was a Tuesday afternoon when Marcus knocked on the door of the private study, holding a thick, cream-colored envelope sealed with heavy red wax.
"Sir, this just arrived by private courier," Marcus said, placing the envelope on the desk. "It’s addressed to you, but the return address... it’s unusual."
Alexander frowned, picking up the letter. There was no corporate logo, no return name—just a set of GPS coordinates printed neatly in elegant, old-fashioned calligraphy, pointing to an abandoned lighthouse off the northern coast of the city.
"Who sent this?" Alexander asked.
"We ran the handwriting through our database," Marcus replied grimly. "It matches a profile we haven't seen in five years. Arthur Pendelton—Julian Vance’s former personal secretary who vanished the night Julian was arrested."
Alexander’s eyes narrowed. "Arthur? I thought he fled the country."
"Apparently not," Marcus said. "The note says: 'If you want to know the real reason why Victoria Lane pushed your mother down the stairs—and why Julian Vance was only half the threat—meet me at the coordinates by midnight. Come alone.'"
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Alexander stared at the wax seal. Every instinct in his body screamed that it was a trap—a desperate, pathetic play by remaining loyalists of Vance Global to lure him out. But as he looked down at the photograph of his mother resting on his desk, the memory of her tumbling down those marble stairs flashed vividly behind his eyes.
"Get the helicopter prepped," Alexander said, standing up and sliding his silver-plated automatic pistol into his shoulder holster. "We're going to the coast."
