Behind her, the sound of expensive crystal clinked against itself as her guests helped themselves to thirty-year-old Macallan from her private collection. The evening's gathering had been arranged within hours of the will reading, a demonstration of Margaret's ability to mobilize her network when circumstances required decisive action.
"Well," said Victoria Blackthorne-Ashworth, settling into a leather chair that cost more than most people's annual salary, "that was unexpected."
At forty-five, Victoria possessed the kind of understated elegance that came from being born into wealth and married into more of it. As Sir Edmund's younger sister and Lord Ashworth's wife, she straddled both sides of the family business equation. Her connection to Margaret went deeper than family ties-they were co-conspirators in a game that had been playing out for years beneath the surface of Blackthorne Industries' respectable facade.
"Unexpected but not insurmountable," Margaret replied, turning from the window. Her green eyes held the cold calculation of a chess master who had just lost her queen but was already planning her endgame. "Elena may have inherited control, but control is only as strong as one's ability to exercise it."
Eight-year-old Damien looked up from his iPad, where he had been silently playing games while listening to the adult conversation with the focused attention of a child who understood that important things were being discussed. Already, he displayed his mother's gift for reading situations and people, a talent that would serve him well in the years to come.
"Will Aunt Elena fire you, Mummy?" he asked with the directness that only children possessed.
Margaret smiled, the expression transforming her austere features into something almost maternal. "No, darling. Aunt Elena needs me far too much to even consider that."
Dr. Sebastian Cross emerged from the kitchen carrying a tumbler of whiskey and wearing the kind of confident smile that had made him irresistible to women and indispensable to Margaret for the past three years. At thirty-eight, Sebastian possessed the dangerous charm of a man who had never met a rule he couldn't bend or a person he couldn't manipulate. His prematurely silver hair and grey eyes gave him a distinguished air that masked the calculating intelligence of a born predator.
"The board is already nervous," Sebastian reported, settling onto the Italian leather sofa with practiced ease. "I've had three calls since we left the meeting. Pemberton Holdings is particularly concerned about the leadership transition affecting the merger negotiations."
Margaret nodded. The Pemberton merger was worth £2.8 billion-the kind of deal that could make or break a CEO's reputation in the first year of their tenure. Sir Nigel Pemberton was old-school establishment, the sort of man who believed that women belonged on charity boards rather than in corporate boardrooms. He had been uncomfortable enough working with Margaret; Elena's appointment would likely send him running for the exits.
"What's our timeline?" Victoria asked, swirling the amber liquid in her crystal glass.
"Six months," Margaret said without hesitation. "Maybe less if we play this correctly. Elena has no experience with hostile acquisitions, international financing, or regulatory compliance. She's spent the last decade organizing charity galas and serving on museum boards. The first major crisis will expose her incompetence, and the board will have no choice but to act."
Sebastian smiled. "And what if there isn't a major crisis?"
Margaret's answering smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Then we'll create one."
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Detective Chief Inspector Robert Welsh, who let himself into the apartment with the easy familiarity of someone who belonged there. At thirty-five, Welsh possessed the kind of unremarkable appearance that served him well in police work-medium height, brown hair, forgettable features that helped him blend into crowds and slip under suspects' radar. What made him valuable to Margaret wasn't his investigative skills but his complete lack of moral scruples and his willingness to sell information to the highest bidder.
"Evening, all," Welsh said, helping himself to whiskey without waiting for an invitation. "Interesting day at the office, I hear."
"Robert," Margaret said coolly. "I wasn't expecting you tonight."
Welsh shrugged. "Thought you might want to know that Detective Inspector Kane is still sniffing around the company's finances. The old man's death hasn't dampened his enthusiasm for the investigation."
Margaret felt a familiar chill at the mention of Thomas Kane. For two years, the Yorkshire detective had been investigating Blackthorne Industries' financial activities with the dogged persistence of a man who knew something was wrong but couldn't quite prove it. Kane was honest, competent, and completely incorruptible-everything that made him dangerous to Margaret's carefully constructed empire.
"What's his focus?" Sebastian asked, his casual tone not quite masking his concern.
"Shell companies, offshore accounts, suspicious cash flows," Welsh replied. "The usual financial crimes playbook. He's convinced that Blackthorne Industries is laundering money, but he can't connect the dots without insider cooperation."
Margaret exchanged a glance with Sebastian. The money laundering operation that had made them all wealthy was also their greatest vulnerability. What had started as a favor to an old family friend-Sir Edmund's former army colleague who had gotten mixed up with the wrong people in Belfast-had grown into a sophisticated criminal enterprise that processed hundreds of millions of pounds annually.
The system was elegant in its simplicity. Dirty money entered through shell companies ostensibly purchasing services from Blackthorne subsidiaries. The funds were then moved through a complex web of legitimate transactions-property acquisitions, business investments, art purchases-before emerging as clean capital that could be used anywhere in the world. Margaret had spent years perfecting the operation, using her position as Deputy CEO to ensure that the criminal activities remained hidden beneath layers of legitimate business.
"Kane needs to be handled," Margaret said quietly.
Welsh nodded. "I've been feeding him information that points toward other companies, other suspects. But he's persistent. Eventually, he's going to stumble onto something we can't explain away."
"Then we make sure he stumbles onto something else first," Margaret replied. "Something bigger and more important than a few questionable property transactions."
Victoria raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"
Margaret's smile was coldly beautiful. "Such as evidence that Elena Blackthorne has been using her position to facilitate money laundering for terrorist organizations."
The room fell silent except for the soft sound of rain against the windows. Even Damien looked up from his iPad, sensing the shift in atmosphere.
"That's... ambitious," Sebastian said finally.
"It's necessary," Margaret corrected. "Elena's appointment puts everything at risk. She's naive enough to conduct a thorough audit of the company's finances, honest enough to report anything suspicious she finds, and stupid enough to think that cooperation with law enforcement will protect her. We need her gone before she can do irreparable damage."
Victoria leaned forward. "What do you need from me?"
"Access to your social circle," Margaret replied. "Elena will need allies on the board and in the business community. I want her isolated, undermined at every turn. Use your connections to spread doubt about her competence, her judgment, her suitability for leadership."
"Consider it done," Victoria said. "Patricia Thornfield owes me several favors. A word from the Home Secretary about Elena's unsuitability for handling sensitive government contracts could be quite damaging."
Dame Patricia Thornfield had been Margaret's contemporary at Oxford, where they had both studied Politics, Philosophy and Economics before pursuing very different careers. Patricia's rise through the ranks of the Conservative Party had been meteoric, fueled by her combination of intellectual brilliance and complete absence of moral compunction. Her position as Home Secretary gave her access to intelligence that could make or break business leaders, and her friendship with Victoria made her a valuable asset in Margaret's war against Elena.
"What about the operational side?" Sebastian asked. "The laundering network needs to be protected while we're transitioning leadership."
Margaret nodded. "Father Michael will continue running the charity front. The art auction scheme is working perfectly-no one questions why a successful company would pay premium prices for contemporary pieces. The property development subsidiaries in Dublin and Edinburgh are clean enough to pass casual inspection."
Father Michael Brennan was Margaret's most reluctant asset, a Catholic priest whose gambling addiction had made him vulnerable to blackmail and coercion. The Meridian Trust, ostensibly a charity dedicated to helping refugees and displaced persons, served as a perfect vehicle for moving money between countries without triggering banking regulations. Donations came in from anonymous benefactors, and grants went out to carefully selected recipients who were actually money laundering partners.
Welsh finished his whiskey and stood. "I should get going. Early day tomorrow-Kane wants to review the Blackthorne files again."
"Keep me informed," Margaret said. "Any new developments, any changes in his focus, anything at all."
After Welsh left, Victoria gathered her coat and prepared to leave as well. "I'll start making calls tomorrow. By the end of the week, half of London will be wondering if Elena Blackthorne is really suitable to run a company like Blackthorne Industries."
Margaret walked her aunt to the door, their relationship more that of co-conspirators than family members. "What about Reginald? Will he be a problem?"
Victoria's expression darkened. "My husband is getting old, Margaret. He's starting to have second thoughts about some of the decisions we've made over the years. But he'll fall in line-he has too much to lose if he doesn't."
After Victoria left, Margaret returned to the living room where Sebastian was refilling his glass and Damien had returned to his iPad. The apartment felt different now-no longer a home but a war room where strategies were planned and enemies were identified.
"Do you really think Elena will be that easy to remove?" Sebastian asked.
Margaret joined him on the sofa, accepting the fresh drink he offered. "Elena has spent her entire life being protected from the real world. She thinks people are fundamentally good, that business is about creating value rather than extracting it, that playing by the rules will guarantee success. She's about to discover how naive those assumptions are."
"And if she's stronger than you think?"
Margaret's green eyes glittered with cold amusement. "Then she'll learn that strength without ruthlessness is just another form of weakness."
Damien looked up from his game, his young face serious. "Mummy, why can't you just tell everyone that you should be the boss instead of Aunt Elena?"
Margaret stroked her son's dark hair, the gesture almost tender. "Because sometimes, darling, the best way to get what you want is to let other people think it was their idea. Aunt Elena is going to fail, and when she does, everyone will realize that I should have been in charge from the beginning."
"What if she doesn't fail?"
Margaret's smile was beautiful and terrible. "She will, Damien. I'm going to make sure of it."
Outside, London glittered in the darkness, unaware that one of its most respected companies was about to become a battlefield. In eighteen months, Elena Blackthorne would be dead, her son would be alone in the world, and Margaret would finally have the empire she had always believed was rightfully hers.
But that night, in her Belgravia penthouse, Margaret Blackthorne-Wells was simply a woman planning the destruction of her sister, surrounded by the luxury that crime had bought her and the allies that fear had secured.
The war for Blackthorne Industries had begun.