Chapter 7 - the shadow over the west wing
By 4:00 PM, a heavy rainstorm rolled over the lake, darkening the skies and hammering against the slate roofs of the mansion.
Inside the luxurious second-floor guest suite, Megan sat on the edge of the plush sofa, watching Sadie color a picture of a large yellow sun on the coffee table. The room was grand, lined with silk draperies and dark oak paneling, a world away from the small servant quarters they had occupied the night before.
A knock sounded at the double doors.
Megan stood up cautiously, opening the door an inch. Standing in the hallway was Graham Pierce, wearing his dark raincoat over his charcoal suit. His face was shadow-draped, his expression hard as stone.
"Mr. Pierce," Megan said, her voice tight with sudden anxiety.
"Pack your bags, Megan," Graham said in a low, harsh whisper. "A car is waiting for you at the rear gate right now. You and the child are leaving the estate."
Megan stepped back, her hand clutching the door edge. "Mr. Vale told us to stay in this room."
"Roman is using you as bait, Megan!" Graham snapped quietly, taking an aggressive step into the threshold. "He doesn't care about your mother's legacy! He wants to use those land deeds to crush his rivals! If you stay in this house until sunset, you and your daughter will be caught in the middle of a blood war!"
"She isn't going anywhere, Graham," a deep voice boomed from the end of the corridor.
Roman stepped out from the shadow of the staircase, his dark eyes glowing with lethal absolute authority. He wore his white suit jacket unbuttoned, his hands resting casually in his trousers pockets.
Graham spun around, his hand instinctively reaching into his coat lining.
In a fraction of a second, Marcus and two heavily armed enforcers stepped out from the adjoining rooms, their weapons drawn and aimed directly at Graham's chest!
"Drop the briefcase, Graham," Roman ordered coldly, stepping forward until he stood two feet from his former adviser.
Graham froze, his breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches. Slowly, with trembling fingers, he let the leather briefcase fall to the carpet.
May you like
Marcus stepped forward, unzipping the briefcase, and pulled out three yellowed parchment documents bearing Victor Vale's official wax seal—the missing land deeds from the 2006 ledger.
"You were always impatient, Graham," Roman said softly. "You thought because my father died, his promises died with him."
