Chapter 10: Poison in Polished Glass
The morning sun was sharp, too bright, too clean, as if mocking the shadows Elara now carried within her.
She sat at the breakfast table, untouched toast on her plate, coffee gone cold. Across from her, Damien skimmed through the financial section of the paper, every movement precise and casual. Deliberate. Controlled.
As if the world wasn't unraveling thread by thread.
"I need to ask you something," she said, voice low.
He didn't look up. "Ask."
"Did your mother know about the collapse of Vance Corp?"
His hands paused on the edge of the paper. A flicker of tension.
Then: "She knows many things."
"That's not an answer."
"She was on the board at the time. She saw the numbers. She made calls." He finally met her eyes. "What exactly do you want to know, Elara? That she helped orchestrate the fall of your family's empire? That maybe your mother wasn't the only one pulling strings behind your back?"
"I want the truth."
Damien folded the paper and stood. "Then learn how to dig without asking permission.
Elara spent the next six hours in the Arclight archives, a heavily guarded sub-level of the corporate tower that only senior partners and executive board members could access. Technically, she wasn't either.
But she had Damien's credentials now.
She bypassed the security with the keycard he didn't know she duplicated. The room smelled of cold air and old paper, a sterile tomb of secrets.
She pulled out records from the quarter before Vance Corp's collapse. Transaction logs. Investment trails. Memorandums. One folder had her father's name on it, scrawled in Damien's handwriting.
Target acquired. Full acquisition recommended by Q3.
Her throat went dry.
Damien had been planning to absorb Vance Corp. even before the scandal. Months before the "scandal" had broken.
She leaned back, breath shallow.
He's always been ahead of the game. And I've always been playing catch-up.
She met Naomi at a small café downtown, one of the few places not bugged or swarming with eyes. They sat in the back, away from the windows.
"I need a favor," Elara said.
Naomi raised an eyebrow. "The kind that makes me a criminal or just one that gets me fired?"
"Somewhere in between."
Naomi sipped her latte. "Go on."
"I want you to trace the ownership of a shell company: Greystone Holdings. Cayman Islands registry. It's tied to a transaction between Vance Corp. and Damien's mother."
Naomi's eyes sharpened. "You think his mother laundered your family's money?"
"I think she helped engineer our collapse."
Naomi leaned in, voice lower now. "You really want to open this box, Elara? Once you do, there's no going back. Not with Damien. Not with anyone."
"I already opened it. I just need you to help me tear the lid off."
Naomi hesitated. Then nodded. "Give me 48 hours."
That night, Damien returned home later than usual. No explanation. No warning.
He found her in the living room, wine glass in hand, eyes unreadable.
"You look like a woman preparing for war," he said.
"I am," she replied. "I just haven't decided who the enemy is yet."
Damien walked to the bar, poured himself a drink. "You found the acquisition file."
"I did."
"And?"
"You wrote 'target acquired.' Was that what I was to you too? A target?"
He turned to her, swirling his glass. "You were a storm. And I decided I'd rather have you inside the walls than battering them down."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting tonight."
She walked over to him, stopping inches away. Her voice dropped. "You built your empire on my family's grave. And now you're building trust on top of a lie."
He stared at her for a long time.
"Everything I did," he said slowly, "was to make sure I could protect what mattered. You just didn't matter yet."
Silence. Thick. Dangerous.
"And now?" she asked, barely a whisper.
"You're the only thing that does."
The next morning, Naomi texted one word: "Bingo."
Greystone Holdings was linked to a web of offshore accounts. Some led to construction investments. Some to biotech. One most telling led straight to a defunct foundation used to sponsor political campaigns in Elara's home district.
Bribes.
Cover-ups.
Deals made in marble hallways and dark back rooms.
And all of it led back to Isadora Blackwood, Damien's mother.
Elara didn't confront Damien that day.
She needed more.
She returned to her family's estate, abandoned now, boarded up, windows clouded with dust. She hadn't been back since the funeral. The air inside was heavy, like grief had settled into the walls.
In the study, she found old letters from her mother. Some to banks. Some to lawyers. One, unopened, addressed to her.
Her hands shook as she slid it open.
Elara,
If you're reading this, then the things I feared most have come to pass.
You must understand, I didn't sell us out. I bought us time.
Time I hoped you'd use to find the truth.
There are things I did not tell your father. Things I buried to protect you.
Follow the ledger. Follow the name Greystone.
And if you ever find Damien… trust only what he does, not what he says, Mother
Elara sat in the chair and wept for the first time in months. Not just for what was lost, but for what had been sacrificed.
Love had not failed her.
Loyalty had.
That evening, Damien found her in the estate's garden, sitting on the old swing set.
He didn't ask how she got there.
He simply stood a few feet away, letting silence stretch.
"I found my mother's letter," she said.
"I assumed you would."
"She said to trust what you do, not what you say."
Damien exhaled, and for once, she saw no armor on him. Just a tired man with too many secrets.
"I never wanted you to become this version of yourself," he said.
"You mean strong?"
"I mean alone."
She looked up at him. "I don't want to be alone."
He stepped forward. "Then stop pushing me away."
"Then stop giving me reasons to."
They stared at each other, two broken empires in human form.
Then, quietly, he said, "There's something coming, Elara. Something worse than Cross or what happened to Vance Corp. And when it hits, I need to know I can count on you."
She stood, eyes locked with his. "I'm not a pawn. Not anymore."
"I never wanted a pawn," he said. "I wanted an equal."
"And I want the truth." "Then stay. And I'll give it to you."