BEYOND THE BOARDROOM

CHAPTER FOUR

Elena couldn’t sleep. The events of the day played on repeat in her head—the enigmatic scripts scrawled into the pedestal, the ominous tone of her name being uttered in a mysterious voice, and Daniel's evasive answers. Ravenwood sensed living as if the stone walls inside her sense of enclosure brimmed with stories that were eager to be revealed to her.

Having waited until midnight, when the tedium of the journal could no longer be resisted, she set a small light in motion and turned the pages. Her grandmother's writing was neat, however, chaotic as if she had been desperate to record her thoughts before they slipped from her mind.

One entry caught Elena’s eye: One entry caught Elena’s eye:

Bloodlines tie us to Ravenwood, but that tie, with it, imposes the duty to protect its secrets. This place advertises the right people and warns the wrong ones. Trust the whispers—they are not your enemy.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine. The things she had heard before–were they a warning? Or lead her into danger?

Elena’s grip tightened on the journal. If her grandmother had known so much about the estate, why had she chosen to keep it a secret from the rest of the family? Why had Elena been chosen to inherit it?

She couldn’t sit still any longer. Taking a flashlight and a map, she went to investigate the routes of the estate. But to expose the truth she must not be dominated by fear.

The corridors felt different at night, cloaked in shadows that seemed to shift with every step she took. Her beam of the flashlight fell on her walls, casting up terrible images on the aged wall tapestries behind her.

The map led her to a wing of the house she hadn’t explored yet. A door at the end of the corridor was bolted, but the little brass key nailed to the rear of the map fitted perfectly in the keyhole.

The passage she reached was small and musty. With trunks and boxes and a haphazard assortment of antiquarian items. It looked like an attic, but it was on the ground floor, in fact. Her flashlight illuminated the gleam of an object of metal in front of a pile of tattered rugs.

Kneeling she unearthed an elaborately carved chest, its lid adorned with very detailed carvings reminiscent of the symbols on the conservatory pedestal. The lock was rusted but not insurmountable. With a little work and a bobby pin out of her hair, the chest flew open.

Inside was a collection of items: an old photograph of her grandmother standing in front of Ravenwood with a group of people she didn’t recognize, a small vial filled with a shimmering silver liquid, and a stack of letters tied together with a faded ribbon.

The cards bore the signature and script of "Eleanor Kensington" and the prescription was nonidentifiable. Curious, Elena opened the first one.

“My dearest Eleanor,

Ravenwood is more than just a house—it is a sanctuary, a protector, and a weight, all at the same time. They are the men, women, and others who are capable of understanding the strength of the force and who alone will go to any extreme to gain it for themselves. You have to be on the lookout; the enemy is, in fact, closer than they seem to be, a specific.

Elena’s heart raced. The letter was dated fifty years ago. Who had written this warning to her grandmother, and what exactly did they mean by “its power”?

Before she could reach for another letter, a creak came from the hallway beyond. She froze, her breath catching in her throat.

“Daniel?” she called, her voice barely above a whisper.

There was no response, but she could hear faint footsteps moving closer. For a moment, her flashlight flickered out, and then it came back on for a moment.

The creak of the door, and she ready herself clutching a flashlight like a gun.

“It’s me,” Daniel’s voice cut through the silence. He stepped into the room, his expression unreadable. “What are you doing here?”

Elena exhaled in relief, though her frustration quickly returned. “I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to look around. What are you doing here?”

Daniel’s gaze shifted to the open chest. “This part of the estate isn’t safe.”

“Safe?” she scoffed. “You keep saying things like that without explaining them. What aren’t you telling me, Daniel?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Ravenwood has a history. Not everything about it is… ordinary. There are enough people who would cross any line to acquire what this property includes.

“Like Victor?” Elena asked, her voice sharp.

Daniel nodded slowly. “Victor is dangerous, but he’s not the only one. Ravenwood has drawn attention for generations. Your grandmother preserved its secrets well, however, now that it's hers, they will find hers.

Elena’s mind swirled with questions. “Why me? Why didn't she tell me any of this when she was alive?

“She trusted you’d figure it out,” Daniel said. But she didn't just want to put you in harm's way unless she had to.

Elena stared at him, her frustration boiling over. “You keep talking in riddles. If you know so much, why don't you just tell me what's going on?

Since some matters have to be experienced for yourself, he stated confidently.

His words enraged her, but she understood he was, in fact, correct. There were too many pieces of the puzzle still missing.

Elena revisited the conservatory the next day and attempted to look closely at the pedestal. Not this time, she saw subtle indentations on the edges which seemed to be designed to contain one thing or another.

The silver liquid vial from the chest materialized in my mind. Getting it out of her purse she opened it and very carefully put some of it in the channels.

The reaction was immediate. A pool of liquid spread across the pedestal, bathing the symbols in a soft, pulsating glow. Now the air was heavy and Elena felt as if the house was fixed upon her.

“Trust.”

Elena’s breath hitched. Whatever her grandmother had left behind, it

wasn’t just a mystery—it was a test.

And she was determined to pass it.