I took a deep breath, tightening my grip on the bronze shield, ready to unleash absolute devastation. Before my hand could leave my pocket, a sudden thunderous sound shattered the tension in the room. Heavy commanding footsteps echoed loudly on the hardwood floor of the corridor outside. The steps were purposeful, rhythmic, and completely devoid of hesitation.
Someone was marching directly toward the library. Terrence stiffened his smug smile, faltering slightly. Richard immediately released his grip on the edge of the desk, taking a nervous step backward. Brenda and Britney froze in place, their heads snapping toward the heavy oak door. A voice rang out from the hallway.
It was a deep resonant baritone rich with the undeniable gravel of absolute self-made authority. It was a voice accustomed to commanding boardrooms, silencing executives, and crushing opposition with a single sentence. Terrence, the voice boomed through the thick wood of the door, demanding immediate attention.
Are you hiding in the study? Your mother has been looking for you for 20 minutes. The blood instantly drained from Terren’s face. The glass of bourbon in his hand trembled slightly. Richard let out a sharp, panicked gasp, his imposing demeanor vanishing into thin air. He looked like a terrified child caught stealing from a cash register.
It was Warren Jefferson, the patriarch, the billionaire real estate mogul, the man who despised deception and demanded absolute perfection from everyone around him. The brass doornob rattled violently. Brenda had locked the deadbolt from the inside, but the sheer force applied from the hallway made the solid wood groan in protest.
‘Open this door,’ Warren commanded his tone, dropping to a dangerous, impatient register. ‘I do not have time for games tonight.’ Richard scrambled away from me, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to reach the door. His hands shook uncontrollably as he fumbled with the brass lock, desperately trying to slide the deadbolt back.
The confident, abusive man who had just crushed my hand around a pen was entirely gone, replaced by a sniveling, desperate sickopant, terrified of facing his wealthy investor. The lock clicked open. The heavy mahogany door was instantly pushed wide open from the outside. The bright warm light from the hallway spilled into the dim library, cutting through the shadows and illuminating the fraudulent contract still sitting on the desk.
Warren Jefferson stepped over the threshold, his imposing broad-shouldered figure entirely filling the doorframe. He wore an immaculate bespoke tuxedo, his silver hair cropped close, his dark eyes scanning the room with sharp analytical precision. He had come looking for his son, expecting to find Terrence avoiding the crowd.
