Chapter 4 - The Ledger of Blood
The interior of the Vance manor was an exercise in cold luxury. High ceilings, dark mahogany paneling, polished slate floors that reflected the morning light like black glass. There were no family photographs on the walls. No art that suggested warmth or personal taste—only ancient maps, brass nautical instruments, and high-definition security monitors mounted discreetly behind dark glass panels.
Eleanor led Scarlett down a long gallery toward a set of heavy double doors at the end of the hall.
"Rule number one," Eleanor said, handing Scarlett a thick leather-bound binder filled with typed pages and color-coded tabs. "Mr. Vance does not like surprises. If a car arrives at the gate without an advance clearance code, you don't ask who it is—you hit the lockdown trigger under the desk in the main foyer."
"Rule number two," Eleanor continued without pausing. "His medical supplies are stored in the safe in his private dressing room. He has a shrapnel injury in his lower spine from 2018. When the weather changes, he bleeds internally. He will refuse medication. You will leave the injection on his desk at seven in the evening, and you will walk away. Do not ask him how he feels."
"And rule number three?" Scarlett asked, clutching the heavy binder to her chest.
Eleanor stopped in front of the library doors and turned to look at Scarlett through her silver glasses. Her expression softened just a fraction.
"Rule number three, Scarlett... don't feel sorry for him. A lot of young women think a man with three hundred million dollars and a dark house is a tragic hero waiting to be saved. Victor Vance is not a hero. He is a predator who built a bigger cage than the other wolves. Remember that when he looks at you the way he looked at you in the diner."
Eleanor knocked twice on the heavy wood and pushed the door open without waiting for an answer.
The library was massive, lined with two stories of old books, but the center of the room was dominated by a modern glass desk covered in glowing monitors and stacks of financial documents.
Victor sat behind the glass, wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a gold pen held between his fingers. He didn't look up when they entered.
"She's here," Eleanor said.
"I have eyes, Eleanor," Victor said, his voice as smooth and cold as it had been the night before. He finally set the pen down and looked across the room at Scarlett. His dark eyes swept over her black trousers, her polished shoes, and the binder clutched against her ribs.
"Did Frank drive carefully?" Victor asked.
"He drove fine," Scarlett said.
"Good." Victor gestured to a small wooden desk situated near the corner window, directly within his line of sight. "That is your station. Eleanor will give you the access codes for the primary accounts by noon. At two o'clock, a representative from the Moretti family will arrive at the main gate. You will receive him in the morning room, take his briefcase, and bring it directly to me without opening it."
Scarlett stepped forward. "What's in the briefcase?"
Eleanor gasped softly.
Victor leaned back in his leather chair, a dangerous silence settling over the room. "Excuse me?"
"If I'm managing this house," Scarlett said, her voice steady despite the rapid pounding of her heart, "I need to know what's coming through the front door. If it's illegal, I need to know where to put it. If it's dangerous, I need to know who to call. I'm not a diner waitress anymore, Mr. Vance—you're paying me eight thousand dollars a month to manage your affairs. That means I don't carry sealed boxes I know nothing about."
Eleanor looked like she was about to faint.
Victor stared at Scarlett for five long seconds. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth curved upward into that same rusty, dark razor-blade smile.
"The briefcase contains forty-two deeds for commercial properties along the waterfront," Victor said softly. "The Moretti family is transferring them to me because their second son tried to set fire to one of my warehouses last Thursday. Is that information sufficient for your managerial duties, Miss Monroe?"
May you like
Scarlett took a breath, held his gaze, and nodded once.
"It will do for now, sir," she said, walking over to her desk and setting her binder down.
