Chapter 5 - THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR IN THE STUDYDownstairs in the grand foyer, Mrs. Hargrove swept toward the front doors with a face carved from glacier ice. She punched the master gate release code on the wall panel, unlocking the heavy iron security gates that led out to the Lake Forest driveway.
A sleek, black-tinted sedan sat idling outside, its headlights cutting through the foggy Illinois night.
The back door opened, and a man stepped out. He wore an expensive, tailored charcoal suit, but his posture was slouching and predatory. A gold Rolex gleamed on his wrist as he adjusted his silk tie and walked up the stone steps with an air of absolute ownership that belonged to someone who thought he owned Dominic Vale himself.
Victor Vance.
The name alone was enough to make lower-level mobsters in Chicago vanish into Lake Michigan. A ruthless corporate raider, rival construction magnate, and the man Dominic Vale suspected had engineered half the hostile takeovers in the Midwest.
Mrs. Hargrove pulled the heavy wooden front door open just enough to let him slip inside, her demeanor instantly shifting from iron tyrant to deferential servant—with a sharp, dangerous undertone.
"You're late, Victor," Mrs. Hargrove hissed, locking the door behind him. "And coming here at three in the morning is reckless. Dominic is already suspicious."
Victor Vance smirked, stepping onto the pristine marble foyer and looking around with arrogant amusement. "Dominic is a paranoid bulldog, Margaret. But he's blind. As long as he thinks his son is just a broken, traumatized kid acting out his mother's ghost, he'll never look at his own balance sheets."
"The new maid is a problem," Margaret Hargrove replied, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "She didn't run away like the others. She stayed. She's smart, and she's already sniffing around the east wing."
Victor stopped walking. His smile vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating sneer. "Then get rid of her. The same way we got rid of the last one who asked too many questions. Or better yet... let the boy do it."
Unbeknownst to them, standing at the top of the grand staircase half-hidden in the shadows, Dominic Vale stood frozen.
He hadn't been asleep. He had heard the gate buzzer from his private study. And now, standing silently in the dark, he listened to every single word.
The blood roared in Dominic’s ears. His knuckles turned white as his massive hands gripped the carved wooden banister so hard the wood began to splinter.
Margaret.
The woman who had served his family for fifteen years. The woman he trusted with his home, his safety, and his son.
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And Victor Vance—the man who had supposedly been his bitter corporate rival for a decade—standing in his foyer, plotting with his house manager.
Dominic didn't storm down the stairs. He didn't roar. He backed slowly into the shadows of the third-floor hallway, his expression turning into something far more terrifying than rage: absolute, calculated vengeance.
