Chapter 3 No.3

The heavy oak door swung open with a groan of hinges that hadn't been oiled in years.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees instantly.

Arthur Sterling stood in the doorway.

He was alive.

He was taller than Gloria remembered from the character descriptions. He wore a charcoal grey suit that fit him like a second skin, tailored to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders. His face was gaunt, unshaven, with dark circles under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and high altitudes. He leaned against the doorframe for a fraction of a second, a subtle shift of weight that betrayed a profound exhaustion before he straightened, his posture once again immaculate.

But his eyes were sharp. Terrifyingly sharp.

Vance turned pale. His mouth opened and closed like a fish pulled onto a dock.

"Mr... Mr. Sterling?" Vance squeaked.

Arthur didn't look at the lawyer. His gaze swept the room, taking in the scene with the efficiency of a crime scene investigator.

He looked at the confetti of paper covering Vance's lap.

He looked at the Montblanc pen still standing erect in the center of the table.

Then, his cold gaze shifted to Gloria.

Gloria suppressed the urge to tremble. The man radiated power. It was a physical force, pressing against her lungs.

She stood up. This was the performance of her life.

"Arthur!" she exclaimed. She pitched her voice to sound relieved, breathless. "You're back!"

She took a step toward him, then stopped.

In the past, Gloria would have thrown herself at him, faking tears and smearing makeup on his shirt.

But the new Gloria knew Arthur hated public displays of emotion. He hated being touched without permission.

She clasped her hands in front of her chest instead, keeping a respectful distance.

Arthur noticed the hesitation. His eyes narrowed slightly. He had expected the tackle.

"Dad?" Jones whispered. The boy stood up, his legs shaky.

Arthur nodded at his son. It was a minimal acknowledgment, barely a tilt of the chin, but for Jones, it was everything.

Arthur walked into the room. He moved with a predator's grace, silent and lethal.

He stopped at the table and gripped the pen. With a single, fluid motion, he yanked it free.

Wood splinters clung to the nib.

He examined the pen, turning it over in his long fingers. Then he looked at Gloria's hand.

"You have a strong grip," he commented. His voice was like gravel grinding together-deep, rough, and utterly devoid of warmth.

Gloria shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Stress relief."

Vance found his voice. "Sir, I was just... we were just protecting the assets. Standard protocol given the... uncertainty."

Arthur raised a hand. Vance shut up immediately.

Arthur looked at the shredded paper on the floor. "Asset Renunciation?"

"She wouldn't sign," Vance said quickly, trying to shift the blame. "She became violent."

"I see," Arthur said.

He turned to Gloria. "Why are you here, Gloria?"

The question was a trap. If she said she came for the money, she was dead. If she said she came to save the company, he wouldn't believe her.

"I was shopping nearby," she lied smoothly.

She kicked a piece of the contract under the table with the toe of her stiletto.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Shopping?"

"Yes," she said. Her mind raced. What did you shop for in a business district? "For... school supplies."

The silence stretched.

"School supplies," Arthur repeated flatly. "In a corporate law firm."

"They have excellent... pens," she gestured to the Montblanc he was holding. "Clearly."

Jones looked at her. He knew she never bought school supplies. He knew she didn't even know what grade his brother was in.

Gloria widened her eyes at Jones. It was a silent plea. Don't kill me.

Jones hesitated. He looked at his father, then back at the woman who had just defended his inheritance.

"She was getting a backpack," Jones said. His voice was quiet. "For Gustavo."

Gloria let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

Arthur stared at his son. He sensed the lie. He sensed the silent communication passing between his wife and his son. It was new. It was strange.

"Get out," Arthur said to Vance.

"Sir?"

"Leave the firm. Leave the building. You're fired."

Vance didn't argue. He grabbed his briefcase and fled, trailing paper scraps behind him.

Arthur didn't watch him go. He was still watching Gloria.

"My office," he said. "Now."