Chapter 9
The private study of the Whitford estate was a sanctuary of warm, luminous colors. A massive marble fireplace dominated one wall, a roaring fire casting a gentle, dancing golden glow across the rich leather furniture and heavy carved walnut bookshelves. The room was bright, clear, and perfectly inviting, a stark contrast to the interrogation that was about to take place.
Malcolm stepped into the study, the heavy oak doors closing solidly behind him.
Lucinda was sitting rigidly in a high-backed leather chair, flanked by the two massive security guards. Her sculpted satin evening gown was slightly wrinkled, her fair, rosy face pale and streaked with ruined makeup. When she saw Malcolm step into the room, she froze, unadulterated terror finally washing over her.
Malcolm walked slowly over to his massive oak desk. He didn't sit down. He picked up a crystal tumbler and poured a small amount of amber liquid. He didn't drink it; he simply held the glass, watching her.
"Did you believe you could systematically eliminate my family and seamlessly assume control of this empire?" Malcolm asked, his deep voice vibrating through the quiet room.
"I was securing our future, Malcolm!" Lucinda cried, leaning forward, desperation clawing at her throat. "Your father was weak! He was negotiating peace treaties that were costing us millions! And your mother was a fragile liability! I did what needed to be done to ensure you inherited absolute power!"
"Did you do it for my power, or for yours?" Malcolm inquired, taking a slow step toward her. The artistic tattoos on his hands flexed as he gripped the crystal glass.
"We were going to be partners!" Lucinda argued, tears of panic spilling over her cheeks.
"Who supplied you with the botanical extract?" Malcolm asked, ignoring her pleas entirely. His cold, perceptive eyes narrowed into lethal slits. "Does a socialite possess the knowledge to synthesize an untraceable paralytic toxin?"
Lucinda’s mouth dropped open. She swallowed hard, looking wildly around the room. "I... I don't know what you are talking about."
"Do you take me for a fool, Lucinda?" Malcolm questioned, his voice dropping into a register of pure, concentrated ice. "Did you honestly believe you were the architect of this conspiracy, rather than a convenient pawn?"
Lucinda’s eyes widened in sudden, horrifying realization. She had been given the vials by a senior lieutenant in a rival syndicate, a man who had promised her absolute control if she removed the old guard.
"It was Elias," Lucinda whispered, her voice breaking. "He gave me the tea. He said it would just put them to sleep. He said it was the only way to secure the merger."
"Did he mention that he was simultaneously positioning his soldiers to raid our southern armories tonight?" Malcolm asked smoothly.
Lucinda gasped, shaking her head violently. "No. No, he told me we would be allies."
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"Is a woman who poisons a sleeping old man ever truly considered an ally?" Malcolm asked, setting his glass down on the desk with a sharp clink.
He had the confirmation he needed. The plot went far deeper than a greedy fiancée. The rival syndicate was actively moving against him, using Lucinda as a Trojan horse to weaken his household from the inside. The war was no longer theoretical; it was imminent.
