Chapter 2
The silence in the lodge entrance hall was so heavy that the only sound was the crackle of the fireplace and little Noah’s faint, rhythmic breathing against Richard’s neck. None of the guests dared to breathe. The bodyguards positioned at the double doors adjusted their posture, keeping their eyes glued to the floor. When Richard Bellacorte spoke in that tone, blood usually followed.
"Get up," Richard commanded, his voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying the weight of an absolute death sentence.
Mark pushed himself up from the pile of shattered crystal and splintered wood, his expensive sweater torn at the collar, blood trickling from his split lip. He wiped his face with a trembling hand, his rosy skin flushed with humiliation and fear.
"Dad, listen to me," Mark stammered, backing away until his heels hit the stone hearth. "The kid was acting out. He was disobeying Claudia all afternoon. We just wanted to teach him some discipline before the dinner started."
"Discipline?" Richard stepped forward, his polished leather shoes crunching over broken glass. "You put a three-year-old child outside in sub-zero Colorado snow without shoes? In my house?"
Claudia pushed herself up from beside the unraveled paper rolls, holding her bruised face. Her glamorous posture was completely destroyed, her winter dress covered in gold ribbon scraps. "Richard, he's a liar! He was trying to ruin the event! He threw his food on the rug, he screamed at the staff—"
"Noah doesn't scream," Richard interrupted, his voice dropping an octave lower. "Noah barely speaks three words a day because every time he opens his mouth in this house, you treat him like a stray dog."
Noah clutched the wooden airplane tighter in his tiny fist, resting his head on Richard’s shoulder. The child was still shivering under the heavy weight of Richard’s wool overcoat.
Richard looked down at the handmade toy in his own hand. Up close, under the bright chandelier light, the craftsmanship of the wooden airplane was surprisingly detailed. The wings were smooth, carefully carved from a dense, dark cedar wood. But what caught Richard’s attention was a small, dark stain along the underside of the tail wing—a faint, distinct reddish mark that had been partially polished over with wax.
Richard’s sharp eyes narrowed. "Where did he get this wood, Mark?"
Mark’s face went completely pale, his irritated posture instantly collapsing into panic. "I don't know! He probably picked up scrap wood from the logging shed behind the property!"
"The logging shed only stores pine and oak," Richard said coldly, his mind calculating every detail. "This is dark cedar. Heartwood cedar. The only heartwood cedar on this mountain was used in the construction of the old estate south of the valley."
Claudia let out a faint, terrified gasp before she could stop herself.
"The old estate that burned to the ground three years ago," Richard continued, his dark eyes shifting between his son and daughter-in-law. "The fire that killed Noah's mother."
Mark took a quick, nervous step forward. "Dad, don't start bringing up Sarah again. The police closed that report three years ago. It was an electrical fire. The building went down in minutes."
"Then why does my grandson have a piece of its timber in his hand today?" Richard demanded. He turned to his lead bodyguard, a tall, burly man standing by the entrance. "Frank. Take Noah upstairs to my private suite. Have the kitchen prepare warm soup and get him clean clothes. If anyone attempts to enter that room without my personal clearance, put a bullet through their knee."
"Yes, Boss," Frank said respectfully, stepping forward and carefully receiving the little boy from Richard’s arms.
Noah looked back at Richard as Frank carried him toward the grand staircase. "Grandpa... my plane?"
"I’m holding it for you, kiddo," Richard said softly, his expression softening for a fraction of a second before hardening into stone as he turned back to face the room. "Nobody touches it."
Once Frank and Noah vanished down the upper hallway, Richard walked over to the long gift-wrapping table. He picked up an antique silver letter opener sitting on the wooden tray and brought it over to the velvet sofa. He sat down slowly, unbuttoning his suit jacket.
"Sit down, both of you," Richard ordered.
Mark and Claudia hurried over like terrified children, sitting on the very edge of the opposite armchair.
May you like
Richard held the wooden airplane under the bright lamp light. He took the thin blade of the silver letter opener and carefully worked it into a nearly invisible seam running along the wooden fuselage. With a quiet click, a tiny hollow compartment inside the toy popped open.
A small, folded piece of yellowed parchment fell onto Richard’s lap.
