Chapter 2 - The Shadows Beyond the Estate
The rain intensified, heavy drops beating against the glass panes of the Vance manor as Arthur ushered the barefoot boy into his private study. Clara had been taken upstairs by her nurses, exhausted beyond measure but refusing to close her eyes until she was assured Eli would not be thrown out into the night.
Inside the dimly lit room, framed by floor-to-ceiling oak shelves and portraits of dead Vance ancestors, Arthur stood behind his massive desk. He poured two fingers of amber liquid into a crystal glass, his hands still shaking.
"I run an international medical research conglomerate," Arthur said, his voice measured, dark, and dangerous. "I hire world-renowned neurologists, surgeons, and physical therapists. None of them could trigger a response in her lower spine. Yet you walk in here, dressed in rags, and she stands."
Eli remained near the doorway, refusing to sit on the leather armchairs. His feet left damp, dirt-smudged prints on the Persian rug. "You look at her with medical charts, Mr. Vance. You see broken wires. I don't see wires. I just see where the life gets stuck."
"Don't speak in riddles with me, boy," Arthur snapped, though there was no real venom behind it—only a desperate, clawing need to understand. "What is your name? Where are your parents?"
"Eli," the boy replied plainly. "I don't have parents. I grew up in the district below the dam. When the flood happened three years ago, nobody came for us."
Arthur froze. The Lower District flood three years ago was the very project his late business partner, Julian Sterling, had managed before his untimely death in a car crash. The disaster had been swept under the rug by corporate lawyers, public relations teams, and heavy payoffs.
Before Arthur could push further, the heavy mahogany door swung open. Julian’s brother, Marcus Sterling—now the vice chairman of Vance Enterprises—stepped into the room. His tailored suit was pristine, his smile practiced and cold.
"Arthur, the guests are departing in utter chaos," Marcus said, his sharp eyes instantly locking onto Eli with open disdain. "Is this the street rat who disrupted the gala? The guards are waiting outside to handle him."
"Leave us, Marcus," Arthur said without looking up.
"Arthur, be reasonable. The girl had a neurological spasm. It happens. You're letting grief and desperation cloud your judgment," Marcus warned, taking a step toward Eli. "This boy slipped past security. He could be a thief, or worse."
"I said, leave us," Arthur barked, his authority dropping like an iron curtain.
Marcus paused, a flicker of cold rage passing over his features before he regained his composure. "Very well. But the board meeting is at eight tomorrow morning. We have the vote on the neural-tech acquisition. Don't let childhood fantasies distract you from business."
As Marcus backed out and closed the door, Eli looked at Arthur. "That man smells like rust and burnt wire."
May you like
Arthur frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It's the smell people get when they carry dark secrets," Eli said softly. "He was at the dam the night it broke."
