Chapter 5 - THE PRIVATE OFFICE
The third floor of the Seacliff Grand was quiet, insulated from the chaos below by thick mahogany paneling and double-paned soundproof windows.
Daniel slammed the heavy oak door of Arthur Vance’s private office so hard the glass framed artwork along the wall rattled.
"You’ve completely lost your mind!" Daniel shouted, pacing back and forth across the Persian rug like a caged animal. He yanked his silk tie loose, tearing open the top button of his shirt. "You embarrassed me in front of the mayor! In front of the lead partners from Vanguard Capital! Do you have any idea how many millions of dollars in investment capital I was closing tonight?"
I walked slowly behind the massive mahogany desk—the desk where my father had sat for thirty years, making every major strategic decision that built his empire.
I set my grandmother’s emerald necklace carefully down on the dark leather blotter.
"You proposed to your pregnant mistress inside my dead father’s hotel," I said, my voice dangerously steady. "On his birthday."
Daniel stopped pacing. He let out a bitter, ugly laugh, shaking his head as if I were a child who didn't understand basic math.
"Your father is dead, Claire!" Daniel sneered, leaning both hands heavy on the desk, pressing his face close to mine. "He’s been dead for six months! And while he was dying, I was the one working sixteen-hour days keeping this place operational! I am the Chairman of the Executive Board. I hold forty percent of the voting shares through the marital property agreement!"
He straightened up, brushing his jacket off with an arrogant smirk.
"You can't throw me out of my own hotel, Claire. You don't have the leverage. You don't have the legal standing. In thirty days, when the divorce papers are finalized, I will control Seacliff Grand entirely. Sophie and I will live in the penthouse, and you will receive a standard cash settlement."
For the first time that night, a slow, cold smile spread across my face.
"Your hotel?" I asked softly.
Daniel’s smirk faltered slightly. "Yes. My hotel."
I reached deep into my leather handbag. My fingers found the stiff parchment of the ivory envelope Martin had handed me at the gate.
I pulled it out and set it on the center of the desk, right beside the emerald necklace.
The red wax seal gleamed under the desk lamp.
The moment Daniel’s eyes landed on the parchment, every drop of color drained out of his face. His arrogance evaporated, replaced by a sudden, sharp stillness.
"Where did you get that?" Daniel asked, his voice suddenly losing its booming confidence.
"Martin gave it to me," I replied.
"Claire... listen to me," Daniel said, stepping closer to the desk, his hands rising in a placating gesture. "Don't open that. Your father... Arthur wasn't in his right mind during those last few weeks. The hospice medication, the cancer... he was confused. He was paranoid. He was writing all kinds of crazy things."
"How do you know what’s inside this envelope, Daniel?" I asked, looking up at him. "If he gave it to Martin three weeks before he died, how do you know what it says?"
Daniel swallowed hard. His throat made a dry clicking sound. "I... I don't. I just know he was mentally unstable."
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"He was sharp enough to know what you were," I said.
I slid my thumb under the heavy wax seal and broke it open.
