Chapter 2 - The Serpent in the SuiteAn hour later, the mahogany double doors of my study swung open without a knock. Raymond Hale strode in, his bespoke Italian suit tailored to perfection, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the dim ambient light of the penthouse. Raymond was my younger brother, my COO, and the man who managed the daily operations of Hale Enterprises while I retreated into the shadows of my grief.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me sitting behind the massive walnut desk, with Lucy asleep on a plush velvet sofa in the corner, wrapped in a cashmere blanket.
"Vincent," Raymond said, his voice dripping with a carefully masked condescension. "Marcus tells me you've lost your mind. A street urchin? In the middle of an acquisition battle? Do you have any idea how the board will spin this if it leaks to the financial papers?"
"Let them talk, Raymond," I said coldly, leaning back in my leather chair and interlocking my fingers. "The board answers to me. And as long as I hold fifty-one percent of the voting shares, my personal life is none of their concern."
Raymond stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the sleeping girl and then back to me. Something ugly and calculating flashed behind his lenses—a familiar glint I had ignored for too long.
"You're dying, aren't you?" Raymond whispered, leaning over the desk, dropping all corporate pretense. "Dr. Bennett's nurse is my mistress's cousin, Vincent. Word travels fast in Manhattan. You have weeks left. And instead of consolidating the empire, securing the trust, and naming me sole successor, you're playing house with a vagrant?"
I didn't flinch. I kept my breathing steady, masking the searing pain blooming in my chest. "So, you already knew."
"Of course I knew," Raymond sneered, a triumphant smirk twisting his thin lips. "And legally, if you die without a designated permanent heir or a revised will, the majority of your non-corporate assets and real estate holdings revert to immediate family—me. But if you adopt a random child on your deathbed while of 'unsound mind and medically documented terminal illness,' I can easily contest it in probate court. The judges will call it the erratic whim of a dying madman."
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"You've thought this through," I said quietly, a dangerous coldness settling over my veins.
"I'm a businessman, brother. Just like you taught me." Raymond straightened his tie, leaning down until his face was inches from mine. "Sign the transfer papers for the logistics division tonight, Vincent, and I'll let the brat stay out her little week in peace before I drop her off at a state orphanage. Cross me, and I’ll strip everything she’s touching right out from under her before your heart even stops beating."
