Chapter 3 - THE VIPER IN THE PARLORTen miles downtown, inside a sprawling, neo-classical limestone mansion overlooking Central Park, Barrett Hayes was systematically destroying his study.
Crystal decanters smashed against the mahogany bookshelves one after another, sending expensive scotch and glittering glass shards flying across the Persian rug. His face was a mask of purple, swollen rage, veins bulging at his temples like angry earthworms.
"A waitress!" Barrett roared, hurling an antique bronze paperweight through the stained-glass window. "An absolute nobody! A charity case picked off the street by a mangy dog!"
Standing near the doorway, nervously adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses, was Arthur Vance, Barrett’s chief legal counsel and long-time fixer. Arthur waited until the storm of flying objects subsided before taking a cautious step forward.
"Mr. Hayes, please, calm down. Anger clouds judgment," Arthur murmured smoothly.
"Calm down?" Barrett spun around, his eyes wild and bloodshot. "Do you know what that ceremony meant, Arthur? The marriage pact between my bloodline and Ashford’s empire was supposed to cement our total dominance over the East Coast logistics network! For three years, I groomed my niece Victoria for that chair. And Ashford threw her aside for a girl in a stained apron!"
"Ashford has always been... eccentric," Arthur said carefully, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Especially since the tragedy five years ago—since his wife died and little Penny stopped speaking."
"I don't care about his dead wife or his mute brat!" Barrett snarled, walking over to his mahogany desk and slamming his fist down. "Something is wrong. Ashford is too calculating, too cold to make a move like that on a whim. That waitress... she’s not an accident. She has to be a plant. A spy from the Chicago syndicate, or a trap set by the federal prosecutors."
Arthur walked over to the desk, his expression turning cold and predatory. "If you suspect she’s a threat, Mr. Hayes, we don't need to guess. We can find out."
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Barrett stopped pacing. His eyes narrowed, a cruel, calculating smile slowly twisting his lips. "What do you suggest, Arthur?"
"The girl has a life outside that hotel. An address, a bank account, friends, bills," Arthur said softly, his voice like the slithering of a snake. "Let's dig up everything about Willa. Every debt, every secret, every living relative. If Ashford wants to play games with trash from the gutter, we'll show him just how flammable trash really is."
