The rain drummed faintly on the glass ceiling of the Lautner library. The scent of leather-bound volumes and old wood hung in the air as Paisley traced her finger along the spine of an aging file box on the lowest shelf. Her blazer lay discarded over the velvet armchair she had no time for appearances now.
This place smells like ego and secrets, she muttered under her breath.
I heard that.
She jolted. Stephan stood in the doorway, damp from the drizzle outside, his jaw sharp, eyes unreadable. He wore his usual dark suit, collar loosened slightly, like he'd tried to relax but forgot how.
I thought you were meeting with the board, she said, swallowing the flush of embarrassment.
They can wait. You're digging into things without me?
Paisley held up the dusty folder. Your father's investment logs from 1998 to 2005. Guess who's name shows up more than once? Elias Harwood. Your so-called rival.
Stephan moved closer, his boots thudding softly against the polished floor. Impossible. Harwood's been after Lautner Global for years.
That's what I thought. But these entries regular payouts, cross-shares masked through subsidiaries. Your father wasn't just in bed with Harwood. They built something together.
He snatched the papers from her hand, eyes scanning the columns. His throat moved in a slow, painful swallow.
Why didn't he ever tell me?
Maybe because it would ruin the golden image of the Lautner name. Maybe because it's more than just business.
Stephan turned sharply, tossing the folder onto the reading table. What are you implying?
I'm saying your empire may not be entirely yours, she said. And if Harwood has leverage
He'll use it, Stephan finished.
Their eyes locked his stormy eyes with disbelief, hers lit with something dangerous.
You knew this would change everything, he said.
I didn't come here for comfort. I came here for the truth.
A crash echoed from the hallway. They both turned. Someone had been listening.
Stephan moved fast. Stay here.
But Paisley followed, her heels echoing his.
They weren't alone in the Lautner estate tonight.
The hallway lights flickered above them, casting shadows across the gold-veined marble. Stephan's footsteps were sharp, controlled, the kind that masked fury behind elegance. Paisley trailed behind, her heartbeat a war drum in her chest.
Did you hear where they went? she asked.
He raised one finger, silencing her. His eyes swept the corridor like a predator scanning for movement. Then another creak. Soft. Down the east wing.
They know this house, he muttered. Come on.
They turned sharply into the east corridor. Unlike the grand wing, this part of the house was dim, wooden-paneled, and smelled faintly of cedar and history. The portraits here were older. unsmiling ancestors watching from the walls with hollow eyes.
Stephan paused outside an oak door with iron trim. His father's private study.
Locked, he whispered, twisting the knob.
Paisley reached into her coat and produced a slim metal pin. He stared at her. Are you serious?
She didn't answer. The lock clicked open.
Inside, the room was undisturbed. Or so it seemed.
Stephan crossed to the fireplace, inspecting the bookshelf nearby. Nothing moved.
Paisley moved to the desk. A single sheet of parchment lay slightly ajar beneath the leather blotter. Her fingers brushed it.
Stephan... someone was here. This was folded earlier. And this signature
He looked. His face turned pale.
Elias Harwood, he said flatly.
The handwriting was smooth, sweeping. It looked recent.
He's been here. Today? she asked.
A faint noise cut through their whispera breath, unguarded, from behind the curtain near the window.
Stephan didn't hesitate. He reached for the curtain and yanked it back.
Empty.
But a second later, the study door slammed shut behind them.
Locked.
Paisley turned to him slowly. We're not alone, are we?
Stephan's lips parted, but no words came.
Then a voice echoed faintly from the wall vent. Low. Familiar.
You're getting too close. Back off, Stephan. Or I'll burn what's left of your family name.
Paisley moved closer, her voice barely a breath. That wasn't just a threat.
Stephan's fists clenched. That was Bernard.