Chapter 5
1075 Words
Lord Graymon had received many warnings before, empty words from desperate rivals, but this one was different. It was personal and precise.
At the lounge, Nathan overheard Maurice dishing out orders to their Lt. Bruce Owen, their Chief of Security.
“Double the security. Every gate, every entrance, every window, and every walkway.” Graymon ordered, his voice cold and unyielding. “I want security surveillance cameras at every blind spot in the estate. You should be armed, alert, and ready, and no one gets in without my say.”
Bruce Owen gave a curt nod. “Understood.”
“Make sure the staff know their roles. Anyone acting suspiciously gets dealt with immediately. And Nathan?” Maurice lowered his voice. “I don't completely trust him. But he'll stay close; every meal that comes in must be tasted by him alone.”
From where he pretended to be arranging a flower vase, Nathan smiled. They were using him as a tool to test for poison.
Lt. Bruce Owen, who had already calculated the logistics in his head, began immediately with his team, adding additional cameras and extra security to rotate every hour.
Nathan stepped into the walkway, and a sharp click of sleek heels approached him.
Clara entered like she owned the room, wine glass in hand, dress too elegant for the hour, and a smile too sharp to be sincere.
“Nathan, why are you avoiding me?”
“What do you want, Clara?”
She strolled past him just far enough to lean by a bronze sculpture. “Can’t I enjoy a quiet drink in the lounge? Didn’t realise brooding was on the agenda.”
“I don't have time for your games.”
At that, Nathan turned. His expression was cold steel. “Say what you came to say. Or leave.”
Clara tilted her head as if she was seeing through his soul. “College days were a disaster, but have you considered any chance of us being together again, now that your ex-wife will soon remarry?”
“I don't repeat my mistakes,” Nathan replied, his tone clipped. “And, I doubt you're really here in London for some business.”
She took one long sip. “Oh my dear Nat, you never change.”
“I agree you're not supposed to print your toxicity on your forehead, but whoever you work for is about to regret ever meeting you.”
Clara’s smile tightened. “Awwwn…yu’nno, this is why I still have some admiration left for you; such a perfect judge of character.”
Nathan didn’t flinch.
“Maybe. Or maybe I know how to survive without needing someone to command me,” she whispered and took another sip, leaned in just slightly, eyes hard.
“I love you, Nathan. Even though you most of the time behave like a circus fool.”
“I’ll keep that in mind when you rot in jail.”
“Oh, Nathan!” With a dark smile and a perfume that smelled like sin and atrocity, she turned and headed towards the garden.
Nathan's phone buzzed, and the screen glowed with a conversation, a chat with Jessica Graymon.
Hi!
“Hey! You sound restless, Jessica. What’s really on your mind?”
Three dots floated, and she replied, followed by a sad emoji:
“It’s complicated. Sometimes I think I made a terrible mistake marrying a man who can’t provide. Weak and helpless.”
Nathan waited, then replied.
“That is in the past. You told me you divorced him, right?”
Delivered and read. She paused, typed, deleted, then retyped.
“Yeah, he was as useless as a priest in a club, a cheat and a wife beater…”
God of mercy! Nathan waited for the insult and accusation to sink in before he typed.
“So are you seeing someone else at the moment?”
The dots floated. “No, I'm still as single as Singleton”
At this point, Nathan paused and began feeling deeply sorry for Silas. He reached for his medication tube and flung two tablets into his mouth, swallowing hard. This is someone who is getting married in a few days, yet she declared herself single on a fake online profile. Jessica's ruthlessness made even the Devil appear innocent.
Lord Graymon entered with Maurice, both of them laughing like overfed immigrants. And when he sighted Nathan, the cold disdain in his eyes was sharper than a razor.
“About time, Nathan. I'll go meet Jacob Dome in his company, and you'll drive me there.”
Nathan forced a polite nod but said nothing.
The drive was tense, and Graymon’s insults spilt freely like a dart from an amateur shooter.
“You really think you belong here? Even a homeless man has more hope of redemption than you could ever have. So know your place… and stay there!”
Nathan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He knew a thousand ways he could wreck Lord Graymon without breaking a sweat, but he had chosen to stay low-key, and so be it.
Funnily enough, the Jacob Dome he was going to meet was the same person driving him. Ironic. Nathan was secretly the owner of the company, whom no one ever knew about —not even the board of Directors, who only knew the name Jacob Dome and had never met him in person. Or they have, but had dismissed him as a lowly cleaner, or worse, a homeless beggar.
When they got off the elevator and met with the board, Lord Graymon stated his complaints as they laughed over cups of coffee.
“I’m here to correct an error in the estate conveyance,” Graymon declared loudly.
Then he turned his venom on Nathan, demanding that he walk home and not touch the car. Nathan only smiled and gently walked away.
The walk home was long and slow. As he passed through the streets of London, chaos began.
An ear-splitting scream echoed from the street. He looked up and across the city's skyline, thick flames surged upward like Abel's burnt sacrifice.
"Fire! Someone call for help!"
A lady ran out of the building, screaming.
“Help! My niece is trapped inside!”
Nathan stopped dead in his tracks. Adrenaline flowed, his heart drummed furiously, and without hesitation — either out of bravery or raw stupidity — he sprinted up the fire escape and disappeared into the inferno.
- Writer
