Chapter 2 - THE GUESTS HE NEVER EXPECTED
The atmosphere in the room shifted as I sat back,
my eyes locked onto Garrick with a level of intensity that finally seemed to pierce his arrogance.
He frowned,
setting his knife down beside the roast,
as if sensing a change in the wind that he couldn't quite identify.
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
he asked,
his voice losing its jovial edge and sharpening into a defensive bark.
"It means,
my dear son-in-law,
that your mother was right about one thing,"
I replied,
my voice dropping an octave,
sounding like the prosecutor who had sent a hundred men just like him to prison.
"Hierarchy is very important."
"And today,
you’re going to learn exactly where you stand in mine."
Just then,
the distant,
muffled chime of the doorbell rang through the house,
the sound cutting through the tension like a physical blade.
Miriam looked up,
her brow furrowed in confusion,
adjusting the pearls at her neck.
"Are we expecting someone,
Garrick?"
she asked,
her tone suggesting that an uninvited guest was a personal insult to the Ashford name.
Garrick stood up,
wiping his mouth with a linen napkin,
his face twisting into a look of annoyance.
"Probably just another delivery for the celebration party tomorrow,"
he grumbled,
pushing his chair back with a loud,
grating screech.
"The staff should have handled the back entrance."
He marched toward the foyer,
his footsteps heavy and self-important on the polished wood.
Sienna looked at me,
her eyes wide with a mix of terror and a tiny,
flickering hope that she was almost too afraid to entertain.
"Mom...
what did you do?"
she whispered,
her voice barely audible over the sound of Garrick’s retreating steps.
"I did what a mother does,
Sienna,"
I said,
squeezing her hand one last time before standing up.
"I called for a reckoning."
In the foyer,
the heavy mahogany front door swung open,
and the sound of Garrick’s voice drifted back to us,
starting with an arrogant "Yes?"
that quickly died in his throat.
There was a long,
stifling silence,
the kind of silence that precedes a landslide or a sudden crash.
I walked toward the doorway of the dining room so I could see the foyer,
and the sight was exactly what I had envisioned.
Standing on the porch were four men in dark,
expensive suits,
their faces grim and professional,
looking like the harbingers of a corporate apocalypse.
At the front of the group was Marcus Thorne,
the Chairman of the Board of Ashford Industries,
a man who had known my late husband for forty years.
Beside him stood two of the most influential board members,
and directly behind them was Commissioner Raymond Fletcher of the Metropolitan Police.
Garrick had turned a ghostly,
translucent white,
his hand still gripping the door handle as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
"Mr. Thorne?"
Garrick stammered,
his voice cracking,
shaking like a leaf in a gale.
"Commissioner?"
"I...
I wasn't expecting...
the meeting isn't until tomorrow morning at the office."
Marcus Thorne didn't offer a hand to shake;
he simply looked past Garrick and locked eyes with me.
"We came as soon as we got the call,
Evelyn,"
Thorne said,
his voice echoing with a gravitas that seemed to shrink the entire house.
"You said there was an emergency involving the integrity of the firm’s leadership."
I walked into the foyer,
my heels clicking with the precision of a ticking bomb,
and stood beside the man who thought he was going to be COO.
"There is,
Marcus,"
I said,
May you like
looking at Garrick’s trembling form.
"It seems we have a candidate who believes that violence is a management style."
