Chapter 2 - THE POISON IN THE WINE
The silence in the dining room was absolute, broken only by the sharp scrape of Walter’s chair as he stood up.
He didn't look at Irene. He looked at the banker by the window, the man I now realized was no banker at all, but a developer waiting to pave over thirty years of Walter’s life.
Vincent did not raise his voice. He didn't have to. The quietness of his tone was far more dangerous.
"You brought a buyer to my table, Irene. Without my consent."
"I brought a solution to the council," Irene corrected smoothly. She didn't flinch. She kept her manicured hand pressed firmly against the document Vincent had just signed. "The veto is gone, Uncle. The council votes tomorrow morning at eight. I already have the majority."
"You manipulated my regret."
"I managed your liability. You wrongly evicted a man. The family looked weak. I secured a buyout that covers Walter’s back pay and adds eight million to our accounts. It’s clean."
"It’s a graveyard," Walter said.
His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried.
I stepped forward to clear the unused wine glasses. It was my job to remain invisible, to be the furniture, but my hands were shaking. I had served this family for thirty-six years. I had watched Vincent’s father build those cottages to ensure the people who bled for this family had a roof over their heads forever.
Irene turned a cold eye on Walter. "You will be generously compensated, Mr. Shaw. You can buy a house anywhere you like."
"I don't want a house anywhere," Walter said, gripping the edge of the table. "My wife’s rosebushes are in that yard. My grandson’s height is marked on the doorframe."
"Wood rots," Irene said. "Memories move."
Vincent stood up. The heavy oak chair groaned against the floorboards.
"The council votes tomorrow," Vincent said, his eyes locked on his niece. "But tomorrow is not today. And until the gavel strikes, I am the head of this family."
He looked at me. "Peter. Show Mr. Sterling the door."
The developer, Sterling, blinked, clearly unaccustomed to being dismissed. He looked at Irene for help, but she gave him a fractional shake of her head.
"I can find my own way out," Sterling muttered, gathering his coat.
"See that you do," Vincent said. "Walter, stay."
The guests took the hint. Within five minutes, the grand dining room emptied, leaving only the wreckage of a ruined celebration. Half-eaten meals. Melted candles.
Irene gathered her folders. She looked entirely too calm for a woman who had just declared war on a mafia boss.
"Don't fight this, Vincent," she said at the doorway. "You’re getting old. The family needs modernization, not sentimentality. I’m saving you from yourself."
When she was gone, Vincent sagged into his chair. He looked his age.
"She set me up," Vincent whispered. "She found out Walter was innocent, held the evidence, and used it tonight to strip my veto so she could sell the land."
I poured Vincent a glass of the wine Irene had denied him. He took it, his hand trembling slightly.
"She’s smart," Walter said, staring at the empty doorway. "But she made one mistake."
Vincent looked up. "What?"
"She thinks this is just about money," Walter said. "And she thinks I was fired because of stolen materials."
I stopped wiping the table.
Walter reached into his worn coat pocket. He pulled out a small, tarnished silver pocket watch. It was completely crushed on one side, the glass shattered.
I recognized it instantly. It had belonged to Vincent’s older brother. Irene’s father. He had died in a car accident fifteen years ago.
"I didn't steal those materials, Vincent," Walter said quietly. "I used them to build a false wall in the basement of my cottage. Because fifteen years ago, your brother asked me to hide something for him. And last winter, Irene came looking for it."
Vincent stared at the shattered watch. "Answer me, Walter. What is in your basement?"
Walter looked down. "The real reason her father died."
I picked up the folder the developer had left behind in his haste. An envelope slipped out and hit the floor.
May you like
I picked it up. It wasn't a land survey. It was a demolition order.
They weren't planning to develop the cottages. They were planning to destroy them, completely and immediately, by tomorrow afternoon.
