Chapter 5
The heavy, soundproofed oak doors of Lawrence Crowe’s private study closed with a definitive, echoing thud. The room was a stark contrast to the bright opulence of the dining hall. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes. The air smelled of expensive scotch, aged leather, and burning Cuban tobacco. The only light came from a single green-glass desk lamp and the dim embers of the fireplace.
Lawrence gently set Hugo down on a plush leather sofa, kneeling in front of him to adjust the boy’s dinner jacket. Cleo moved to the side of the room, standing respectfully in the shadows, her dark dress blending into the dim lighting.
Moments later, the study doors burst open. Estelle stormed in, having followed them from the dining hall. She slammed the doors behind her, pacing furiously across the Persian rug. The sculpted satin of her gown dragged heavily against the floor.
“This is an interrogation!” Estelle shouted, throwing her hands in the air. “I am being interrogated by my own fiancé and his cleaning lady! This is humiliating! I demand you call this off right now, Lawrence!”
Lawrence slowly stood up. He walked over to his massive mahogany desk and poured two fingers of amber liquid into a crystal glass. He did not drink it. He simply held it, his tattooed fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the glass.
“Do you believe your demands carry any weight in this room, Estelle? Have you forgotten whose territory you stand on?”
“I am your partner!” she screamed, tears of rage ruining her immaculate makeup. “I held you when she died! I comforted you! I gave you my youth and my loyalty, and you repay me by listening to a traumatized child and a jealous maid?”
Lawrence turned his high-bridged nose toward her. The green light from the lamp cast deep shadows over his sharp jaw.
“Why did you visit the pharmacy three towns over on the night my wife passed away? Did you believe my security detail would not log your movements?”
Estelle froze in her tracks. The blood rushed out of her face so fast she swayed on her expensive heels. “I... I had a migraine. I needed medication. You know I suffer from terrible migraines, Lawrence.”
“Is that why you paid the pharmacist ten thousand dollars in cash? Does basic pain medication command such a premium on the black market, Estelle?”
Estelle’s mouth opened and closed like a fish suffocating on dry land. She looked frantically at Cleo, then back at Lawrence. “You’ve been spying on me? For how long? You asked me to marry you!”
Lawrence set the crystal glass down on the desk with a sharp, terrifying clack.
“How else was I to keep you closely monitored until the boy found his voice? Where else could I place you to ensure you could not flee the country?”
Hugo let out a small whimper from the leather sofa. Estelle’s head snapped toward the boy, her survival instincts kicking in. If she could silence the primary witness, she might still find a way out of this nightmare. She lunged toward the sofa, her hands hooked into claws.
“You little liar! Tell him the truth! Tell him you made it up!”
Cleo intercepted her immediately. The polished housemaid moved with shocking speed, grabbing Estelle’s wrist and shoving the woman backward with enough force to send Estelle stumbling into a heavy bookshelf.
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Lawrence didn't even flinch. He watched the exchange with cold, observant eyes.
“Do you possess a death wish, Estelle? Would you attempt to strike my blood right in front of my face?”
