Chapter 2 - The Man at the Head of the Table
The dining room fell silent when Nicholas carried me inside.
I remember fragments.
Crystal glasses.
A roaring fireplace.
Christmas music.
People staring.
Richard standing near the doorway.
His face went pale.
“Nicholas—”
“Don’t.”
One word stopped him.
Nicholas carried me into the library and placed me on a leather sofa.
“Blankets.”
Staff rushed forward.
“Warm ones,” he ordered. “Not hot.”
Someone removed my wet shoes.
Another wrapped blankets around me.
Richard appeared at the doorway.
“Sir, I can explain.”
Nicholas didn't look at him.
“Doctor first.”
Ten minutes later, Dr. Harris arrived from the guest wing.
He checked my temperature and pulse.
“Mild hypothermia. She needs gradual warming and observation.”
Nicholas stood beside the fireplace.
“How long?”
“Outside?”
“Yes.”
The doctor looked at me.
I swallowed.
“Maybe forty-five minutes.”
Nicholas slowly turned toward Richard.
“Forty-five.”
Richard straightened.
“She was dismissed after destroying an extremely valuable antique.”
“In a blizzard?”
“She refused to follow procedure.”
I stared at him.
“That’s not true.”
Richard looked at me.
“Miss Turner, you're confused.”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“You wouldn't let me get my coat.”
Nicholas's eyes moved between us.
“Her coat?”
“Staff coats are stored downstairs.”
“Then why wasn't she wearing hers?”
Richard hesitated.
“She became argumentative.”
“I asked to get my coat.”
“You raised your voice.”
“You told me to leave.”
Nicholas interrupted.
“Enough.”
Silence.
He approached Richard.
“Did you send a nineteen-year-old employee outside without winter clothing?”
“I dismissed an employee for gross negligence.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Richard swallowed.
“Yes.”
Nicholas stared at him.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Nicholas said, “Get out of my sight.”
Richard blinked.
“Sir?”
“My study. Wait there.”
“But your guests—”
“Can leave.”
Richard disappeared.
Nicholas turned toward his security chief.
“Marco.”
A broad man near the door stepped forward.
“Boss.”
“Lock the side entrance records. Security cameras, door logs, everything from six o'clock onward.”
“Yes.”
“Then find out exactly what happened to that vase.”
I frowned.
Richard had watched me drop it.
Why investigate?
Nicholas noticed.
“Something wrong?”
“I broke it.”
“Maybe.”
“I did.”
“We'll determine that.”
“It caught on the garland.”
“What did?”
“My foot.”
Nicholas looked toward Marco.
“Check the staircase too.”
Marco nodded.
The doctor eventually allowed me to sit near the fire.
Nicholas poured water himself.
I took the glass.
“Thank you.”
“You don't have to thank me.”
I looked down.
“Am I fired?”
He stared at me like I had asked whether the ceiling was purple.
“You nearly froze to death and you're asking about employment?”
“I need the job.”
“You have it.”
“But the vase—”
“I don't care about the vase.”
Richard had made it sound like a national treasure.
I looked toward the doorway.
“Mr. Caldwell said—”
“Richard says many things.”
Nicholas sat across from me.
“How long has he treated you this way?”
I hesitated.
“Emily.”
“Since I started.”
“Three months?”
“Yes.”
“What has he done?”
“Mostly corrections.”
“Define corrections.”
I told him.
The candlesticks.
The repeated shifts.
The inspections.
The threats.
The way Richard sometimes altered instructions and then blamed me for following the original ones.
Nicholas's jaw tightened.
“Why didn't you report him?”
“To who?”
“Me.”
I almost laughed.
Then realized he was serious.
“Mr. Grimaldiro, I've spoken to you twice.”
“Three times.”
I blinked.
“You remember?”
“You bring my coffee.”
I stared at him.
“Ethiopian. No sugar,” he continued.
“You noticed?”
“I notice my own house.”
Before I could answer, Marco returned holding something between two fingers.
A small brass tack.
“Found this under the garland.”
Nicholas stood.
Marco continued.
“Garland was secured everywhere except the bottom section. Someone loosened it.”
My stomach dropped.
Nicholas looked at me.
“You didn't trip because you were careless.”
Marco nodded toward the hall.
“And there's more.”
“What?”
“The vase.”
He paused.
“It wasn't an antique.”
Nicholas's expression darkened.
“Explain.”
“Cheap reproduction. Maybe two hundred dollars.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
Marco looked at me.
“Sorry, kid. That's what it was.”
“But Richard said—”
“I heard what he said.”
Nicholas turned toward his study.
For the first time that evening, I understood why powerful men feared him.
He wasn't shouting.
He wasn't threatening anyone.
He simply became very still.
“Marco.”
“Yes?”
May you like
“Bring Caldwell downstairs.”
---
