Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Hallway
The heavy oak door of the estate groaned as Weston stepped into the foyer. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked with an oppressive, hollow rhythm. Every shadow seemed to stretch toward him, whispering of an empty bed and a cold hearth. He loosened his tie, his fingers stiff against the silk.
His chief of security, Marcus, stepped out from the shadows near the library. Marcus had the face of a man carved from granite, unyielding and permanently weathered by decades of violence.
"Mr. Kade," Marcus said, his voice low. "The meeting with the shipping syndicate is set for tomorrow morning. And... Miss Genevieve called. She wanted to know if you had finalized the guest list for the engagement gala."
Weston did not look at him. He walked toward the grand staircase, his boots clicking against the marble floor. "Tell her the list is whatever her father wants. It doesn't matter."
"Sir, she expects some personal involvement. The press is already running articles about the union. They're calling it the 'Wedding of the Century'."
"Let them write what they want," Weston said, his voice flat. "It’s a business merger, Marcus. Nothing more."
He reached the landing and walked past the hallway leading to Nadia's old room. He stopped for a fraction of a second, his gaze lingering on the brass handle. The lock was cold, untouched by human hands for three long years. He forced himself to move, entering his own suite.
The room was vast, dark, and utterly devoid of warmth. A single desk lamp cast a weak yellow glow over a stack of reports. Weston sat down, but the words swam before his eyes. Instead of corporate ledgers and shipping manifests, he saw the face of the four-year-old girl in the tenement apartment. He saw the way she had divided the bread. He saw the patched rag doll resting on her small knees.
Her mother, Clara, worked as a maid in the Kade estate twice a week. She was quiet, kept her head down, and never asked for extra shifts, though Weston knew she was struggling. Clara’s husband had supposedly died in an industrial accident four years prior—an accident funded by Kade enterprises when they bought out the local dockyards.
Weston pulled a thick leather-bound notebook toward him. He flipped to a page dated November four years ago.
Dockworker Liam Vance. Deceased. Boiler explosion at Sector 4.
A normal accident report. Signed off by the city inspector. But looking at it now, with the image of that little girl burning in his mind, Weston felt a cold knot twist in his gut. Liam Vance hadn't just been a dockworker. He had been a union organizer who refused to take bribes.
Weston closed the book with a sharp snap that echoed in the silent room. He reached for his phone and dialed a private number.
"Marcus," Weston said the moment the line connected. "Pull every file on the Sector 4 dock explosion four years ago. I want the original police logs, the autopsy reports, and the names of every man who was on duty that night."
"At this hour, sir?" Marcus asked, hesitation creeping into his voice. "The archives are locked down, and—"
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"Now, Marcus," Weston cut him off, his voice dropping an octave into a dangerous, icy register. "Or you won't have an archive to manage tomorrow."
The line clicked dead. Weston stood up and walked to the tall arched window, looking out over the dark expanse of the estate. The rain had started to fall, drumming a steady, relentless beat against the glass. The city out there was full of ghosts, and tonight, Weston Kade was determined to drag every single one of them into the light.
