Rise Of The Ice Lord

9

Chapter 9: The Golden Boy's Plot

Silverware clattered against fine porcelain in the dining room of the Sterling estate, the sharp sound doing nothing to break the heavy silence hanging over the breakfast table. Harlan sat at the head of the mahogany board, ignoring his poached eggs while staring bitterly at the front page of the morning society gazette. Across the street, the steady thrum of industrial cranes echoed through the window glass, a constant reminder of the fortress rising next door.

The country club board suspended my advisory seat this morning, Harlan said, tossing the linen napkin onto his untouched plate. Three corporate partners backed out of our private equity fund before dawn, and Councilman Thomas refuses to take my calls. Our reputation in this district is in the gutter because of that public spectacle in the driveway.

Torin sliced through a thick cut of ham with measured calm, chewing slowly before wiping his mouth. He set his fork down and leaned back into the leather cushion of his chair, watching his father stew in bitter frustration.

You are letting panic cloud your judgment, Torin said, meeting his father furious stare without flinching. Rowan put on a loud performance with a few hired contractors and some rented machinery, but theatrics do not change reality. I already have a strategy in place to take that entire compound off his hands before the first frost arrives.

Harlan rubbed his temples, his breath coming in shallow bursts. A strategy? You got your jaw cracked on the pavement while the whole neighborhood recorded it on their phones.

That was an isolated physical exchange, Torin replied smoothly, resting his forearms on the polished wood. Rowan thinks he won because he humiliated us in front of the local socialites, but he is running on adrenaline and childish anger. Once that initial spike of spite burns away, his basic nature will catch up with him.

Genevieve paused with her coffee cup halfway to her lips, studying her son face with sudden interest. What are you getting at, Torin?

Think about how Rowan is wired, Torin began, gesturing toward the frosted window that looked out on the neighboring construction site. We spent fifteen years watching him scrub the floors and repair the gutters. He spent his entire childhood isolated in a drafty attic, begging for scraps of approval that we never gave him. You can hand a stray dog a mountain of cash, but deep down, he is still starving for someone to pet his head.

He picked up his glass of orange juice and took a small sip. He does not know how to handle real power because he has never possessed it. He is suspicious of us, obviously, but he is desperately lonely, and that makes him predictable.

Harlan frowned, skepticism lining the deep creases around his eyes. He cut legal ties with us, signed the severance without blinking, and paid millions in cash for that property. He did not look lonely when he struck your mother.

Because he hates us, Torin countered, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial register. But he does not hate everyone. In fact, there is one person he has put on a pedestal since our second year at the university.

Genevieve set her porcelain cup down on the saucer, the small click cutting through the room. Who?

Piper Vance, Torin said, a thin smirk spreading across his lips. The quiet girl from the biology lab who used to share her lecture notes with him. Rowan spent two semesters fixing her laptop and walking her to the transit station in the rain, looking at her like she was the center of the universe. He never worked up the courage to ask her out, but he practically worshiped the ground she walked on.

Does she know about his sudden fortune, Genevieve asked, leaning forward over the table.

Not yet, Torin replied, pulling his phone from his pocket and sliding it across the tablecloth toward his mother. But she knows that her family flower business went under last month, and she knows her father owes five figures to the medical clinic downtown. I called her yesterday afternoon and offered to clear every single penny of that debt.

Genevieve picked up the device, her manicured fingers scrolling through the brief text exchange displayed on the screen. The financial desperation in the messages was clear; the girl was ready to do whatever was necessary to keep the bailiffs away from her front door.

A Trojan horse, Genevieve whispered, her eyes lighting up with calculating warmth. You send her in as a distressed friend seeking shelter from the bitter cold.

Precisely, Torin said, folding his hands together. Rowan will not open the gate for a Sterling, and he will ignore any legal paperwork we throw at him. But if Piper shows up shivering at his security gate with tears in her eyes and nowhere else to turn, his foolish savior complex will take over. He will bring her inside, give her a hot meal, and show her every inch of his precious sanctuary just to impress her.

He leaned forward, tapping the edge of his father water glass to draw his full attention. She stays there for two days, plays the part of the grateful, adoring companion, and observes the routine. All she needs to do is copy the biometric override codes or photograph the manual release levers for the blast doors.

And once she transmits the security bypass, Harlan said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as the plan formed in his mind.

Once the gate locks open from the inside, we move our private security team straight through the main entrance, Torin finished, his tone cold and decisive. We seize the generator rooms, take control of the water filtration systems, and secure the subterranean food storage before he even realizes what hit him.

Genevieve let out a sharp laugh, the tension that had gripped her shoulders since the driveway altercation vanishing instantly. She looked at her son with open admiration, reaching across the table to pat his arm.

Brilliant, Genevieve said, her voice dripping with venomous satisfaction. Simply brilliant. Let the ungrateful orphan break his back building the fortress, hauling in the military rations, and drilling the geothermal wells. He is doing all the hard labor for us.

And when the winter storm hits this district, Harlan added, a vicious smile touching the corners of his mouth as he picked up his fork once more, we will throw him right out onto the frozen pavement where he belongs.

Rowan will freeze on his own doorstep, Torin said, raising his juice glass in a mock toast toward the window. And we will watch him turn to ice from the comfort of his own living room.