Chapter 8 - THE LAST SUPPER AT THE MANSIONTwo days later, the rain had cleared, leaving the Blue Ridge mountains crisp, bright, and impossibly green.
Harrison Vance sat in his corner office in downtown Asheville, tapping his polished Italian leather shoe against the floorboards. His phone buzzed on the mahogany desk.
It was a text message from an unknown number:
“Mr. Mercer wishes to settle the restructuring agreement tonight. Dinner at the estate, 8:00 PM sharp. Come alone. Bring all final portfolio transfers for signature.”
Harrison’s heart leaped with triumph. He had broken the old man. Seven years of isolation, grief, and manipulation had finally worn Nathan Mercer down. Tonight, the final four hundred million dollars would be signed over, and Harrison’s offshore accounts would be untouchable.
At precisely 7:55 PM, Harrison’s sleek black sedan pulled up the winding driveway of the stone estate above the valley.
He stepped out, adjusting his tie, carrying his leather portfolio like a shield. The grand front doors were already open.
Harrison stepped into the foyer. The house was quiet—suspiciously quiet. No housekeepers scurried about. No gardeners tended the grounds.
He walked down the long hallway toward the dining room. The heavy oak doors stood wide open.
Inside, the scene was breathtaking and bizarre.
A massive mahogany dining table, usually reserved for state dinners, was set with fine crystal, silver candlesticks, and a single, magnificent centerpiece: a giant, pristine stainless-steel mixing bowl filled to the brim with fresh, flour-dusted biscuits.
Nathan sat at the head of the table in a sharply tailored charcoal suit, his silver-streaked hair brushed back, looking every bit the ruthless titan of industry he had once been.
Standing right beside him, wearing a spotless white chef’s jacket over her jeans and work boots, was Evie.
Harrison paused at the threshold, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. He walked in, chest puffed out, holding up his leather portfolio.
"Well, Nathan," Harrison purred, taking a seat opposite the billionaire without being invited. "I see you finally came to your senses. It’s about time. Let’s sign the papers, wrap up this little partnership, and get back to business."
Nathan didn't move. He slowly picked up a silver butter knife, turning it over in his fingers. "You've been very busy over the last seven years, Harrison."
Harrison laughed, a smooth, condescending sound. "Business requires diligence, Nathan. While you were up here mourning in the dark, the corporate world kept moving."
"Indeed it did," a cool, unfamiliar voice echoed from the shadowy corner of the dining room.
Harrison froze.
From the shadows near the tall windows stepped Maya, holding a thick stack of printed documents and a portable digital projector. Behind her stepped two federal agents in dark suits, their badges gleaming under the crystal chandelier.
May you like
Harrison’s face drained of color. He bolted upright from his chair, his eyes darting toward the exit. "What is this? Nathan, what is the meaning of this?"
"This," Nathan said, standing up slowly and leaning across the table, his eyes locking onto the terrified consultant with the force of a predator, "is the part where the queen takes your castle."
