Chapter 3 - THE BLOOD AND THE BOARD
The words hung in the quiet study like thick smoke.
Murdered by your mother.
I gripped the back of the leather chair, my knuckles turning white. “You’re lying. My mother is a kind, gentle woman. She spent her life volunteering at food banks and teaching children to read. She doesn’t know anything about pharmaceuticals or rare poisons.”
Daniel watched me carefully. “Sarah Vance. Daughter of William Vance, the founder of Vance Pharmaceuticals. The company went bankrupt twenty-two years ago, shortly after my father’s death. You’re telling me she never mentioned it?”
“No,” I stammered, my mind racing. “She never mentioned a family business. We lived paycheck to paycheck. When her early-onset dementia started two years ago, we lost everything paying for her care.”
The absolute certainty in my voice must have registered, because Daniel’s hard expression faltered. He looked at the silver swallow pendant resting against my collarbone.
“She gave me this necklace before her memory started fading,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “She told me it was the only thing she had left of her true home. She also gave me something else.”
Daniel stepped closer. “What?”
“A key,” I whispered. “A small, tarnished silver key. She made me swear to keep it safe. She said if anyone ever came looking for the truth about the night I was born, the key would unlock the answer.”
Daniel’s eyes widened. “Where is it?”
“In my purse. In the employee locker room downstairs.”
“We need to get it right now,” Daniel said, already moving toward the door.
He didn’t care about the gala anymore. He didn’t care about the hundreds of millionaires drinking his champagne in the ballroom. He opened the heavy oak door, and we rushed out into the corridor.
We avoided the main hall, taking the servant stairs down to the basement level. My heart hammered against my ribs with every step. The reality of my life was unraveling faster than I could process. If my mother wasn’t a murderer, why was she hiding? What did Eleanor know?
We reached the concrete hallway of the employee wing. The locker room was at the far end, dimly lit by flickering fluorescent bulbs.
As we pushed the door open, I froze.
The locker room was completely trashed. Uniforms were thrown across the floor. Lockers hung open, their hinges bent and broken.
And standing at the center of the room, holding my cheap, faux-leather purse, was Arthur Thorne.
Thorne was the Harrington Foundation’s Head of Security. He was a massive, intimidating man with a shaved head and a tailored suit that barely contained his muscular frame. He had worked for the family for over two decades.
He slowly looked up as we entered.
“Looking for this, Lena?” Thorne asked. His voice was a deep, menacing rumble. He turned my purse upside down.
My wallet, my hairbrush, and my keys clattered onto the concrete floor.
Daniel stepped in front of me, shielding me from Thorne. “What the hell are you doing, Arthur? Put her belongings down and step away.”
Thorne smiled. It was a cold, humorless expression. He reached down and picked up the tarnished silver key from the pile of my belongings. He held it up to the light, inspecting it.
“You’re fired, Arthur,” Daniel said, his voice echoing in the concrete room. “Leave the key on the bench and get out of my house.”
Thorne didn’t move. Instead, he let out a low chuckle.
“You can’t fire me, Daniel,” Thorne said, slipping the silver key into his own pocket.
“I am the CEO of Harrington Industries and the owner of this estate,” Daniel snapped, his fists clenching. “I can absolutely fire you.”
Thorne shook his head slowly, a look of profound pity crossing his face. “You still don’t get it, do you, kid? I don’t work for you. And I certainly don’t work for your mother.”
Daniel frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Thorne reached inside his tailored jacket. For a terrifying second, I thought he was pulling a gun. Instead, he pulled out a thick, manila envelope and tossed it onto the wooden bench between us.
“I work for the Board of Directors,” Thorne said smoothly. “And the Board has been keeping a very close eye on Eleanor’s erratic behavior for years. They ordered a quiet investigation into the family’s assets, to ensure the company’s legacy was secure.”
I stared at the envelope. My stomach churned with a sickening sense of dread.
“We ran a covert DNA sweep three months ago,” Thorne continued, pointing a thick finger at the envelope. “We matched medical records, dental records, and blood samples taken during your annual physicals, Daniel.”
Daniel stared at the envelope as if it were a bomb. He slowly stepped forward, picked it up, and broke the seal. He pulled out a stack of lab reports.
“Read the summary on the last page,” Thorne said.
Daniel’s eyes scanned the document. The color completely drained from his face. His broad shoulders slumped, and for the first time that night, he looked incredibly small.
“No,” Daniel whispered, shaking his head. “This is a forgery. This is a lie.”
“It’s a 99.9% certainty,” Thorne said coldly.
I stepped up beside Daniel, looking over his arm at the paper. The scientific jargon blurred together, but the bold black text at the bottom was perfectly clear.
PROBABILITY OF PATERNITY (RICHARD HARRINGTON / DANIEL HARRINGTON): 0.00%
My hands flew to my mouth.
Daniel wasn’t Richard Harrington’s son.
Thorne looked directly at me. “Eleanor couldn’t have children. She faked her pregnancy and bought a child on the black market to secure her position in the Harrington empire. Daniel is a ghost.”
Thorne took a step toward me.
“But you, Lena,” Thorne smiled, a predatory gleam in his eye. “We ran the blood from the wineglass you cut yourself on last week in the kitchen. You are Richard Harrington’s biological daughter. You are the sole, legitimate heir to a five-billion-dollar empire.”
Before the shock could fully register, the locker room door slammed shut behind us.
The heavy deadbolt clicked into place.
May you like
Thorne’s smile vanished. He pulled a suppressed pistol from his waistband.
“Which is exactly why the Board ordered me to eliminate you both tonight,” Thorne whispered, raising the gun. “Nothing personal, kids. It’s just business.”
