Chapter 3 - The Weight of Debt
Claire stood in the gravel courtyard just outside the service exit, her shoulders hunched against the biting Chicago wind. Her uniform—a simple navy dress with a white apron—fluttered against her legs. In her hands, she clutched a crumpled white envelope, her knuckles white.
"Mr. Vance, please," Claire pleaded, her voice cracking. "I have a payment schedule arranged with the bank. It’s tight, but I’ve met every deadline since I took this position. Why are you here? This isn't your department."
"My department is risk management, Mrs. Bennett," Vance replied smoothly, stepping closer to her than professional courtesy allowed. He was a tall, sharp-featured man with eyes like polished obsidian and a smile that never reached his eyes. "And an employee carrying a hidden debt of eighty thousand dollars from her deceased husband's failed transport business represents a severe liability to the Russo name. What happens when a creditor decides to lean on you here? Security gets compromised."
"No one knows. I keep my personal life separate—"
"You can't separate a sinking ship from the ocean it's floating in," Vance interrupted coldly. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the envelope in her hand. "Unless, of course, someone high up decides to intervene. But Mr. Russo doesn't care about domestic staff. To him, you're an expense sheet item. Unless we settle this right now... or make other arrangements."
The implication hung in the freezing air, thick and repulsive.
Claire recoiled, stepping back until her heel hit the stone foundation of the manor. "Get away from me."
"Or what? You'll complain to Damian?" Vance laughed softly, a harsh, grating sound. "Damian Russo doesn't even know your last name, let alone your face. You're invisible here."
"She isn't invisible to me."
The voice cut through the courtyard like a winter gale.
Marcus Vance froze, the color instantly draining from his face as if he had been struck by lightning. He slowly turned around.
Damian stood on the top step of the service exit, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. He wore no coat, yet he looked completely untouched by the cold. His gaze was fixed entirely on Vance, his eyes narrowed into two dangerous slits of ice.
"Mr... Mr. Russo," Vance stammered, stumbling backward half a step. "I—I didn't expect you back at the estate. We were just discussing... operational matters regarding estate personnel audit—"
"You were harassing an employee outside her quarters," Damian corrected, his voice dangerously soft. "And you were discussing private financial matters that have no bearing on her employment contract with my household."
"Sir, as a director, I have a duty to—"
"You have a duty to clear your desk by five o'clock this evening," Damian said, stepping down the stairs, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate strides. "And if you are ever within five miles of a Russo property again, I won't just fire you. I will dismantle every business venture you've ever touched until you are begging for spare change on the South Side."
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Vance swallowed hard, trembling violently. He shot a venomous glare at Claire before turning and practically running toward the parking lot, his car doors unlocking with a frantic beep.
Silence settled back over the courtyard, save for the whistling wind.
