CHAPTER 5: THE SHATTERED GLASS
1087 Words
The rain didn't fall on City S; it besieged it.
Evelyn stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of her private study, watching the lightning fracture the sky over the gothic spires of Saint Mary’s Academy. The thunder was a low, rhythmic growl that seemed to vibrate in her teeth. In her hand, she held the black folder Alistair had given her. The name Silas Vane was typed in a cold, serif font that looked like barbed wire.
Silas Vane. The ghost in the machine. The man who had signed her death warrant in another life while Lucian merely held the pen.
In her previous timeline, Evelyn had never even met him. He was a shadow, a silent partner in the Thorne Group’s expansion. It was only in those final, freezing moments in the hospital that she had overheard Lucian whispering into a phone: It’s done, Silas. The board is ours.
Lucian is a wolf who thinks he’s a king, she mused, her eyes tracking a raindrop down the glass. Silas is the hunter who lets the wolf play until it’s time for the skinning. To defeat a hunter, I cannot be a wolf. I have to be the trap.
Her phone vibrated on the mahogany desk. An unknown number.
Miss Thorne, the voice on the other end was like sandpaper on silk. It was devoid of inflection, a voice that had forgotten how to feel. I believe you have something that belongs to me.
Evelyn didn't hesitate. She didn't ask who it was. Mr. Vane, I assume. You're referring to the audit files? They don't belong to you. They belong to the authorities. I’m just the courier.
There was a pause. A silence so heavy it felt like a physical weight. You’re braver than the girl in the reports, Evelyn. Bravery, however, is often indistinguishable from a death wish.
And greed is often indistinguishable from stupidity, Evelyn countered, her voice dropping to a cold whisper. You’ve spent decades building your shadow empire. Do you really want to lose it all over a mediocre puppet like Lucian?
Lucian is a tool. Tools can be replaced, Silas said. But the bloodline... that is a nuisance. I’ll see you at the gala on Friday, Evelyn. Wear something red. It hides the stains.
The line went dead.
The next morning, Saint Mary’s was draped in a thick, suffocating fog. Evelyn’s Maybach wound its way up the academy’s private road, the headlights struggling to pierce the grey veil.
Something was wrong. It wasn't a psychic premonition; it was an observation. The road was too quiet. The maintenance crew was missing. The security gate was swinging lazily in the wind.
Stop the car, Evelyn commanded.
The chauffeur frowned. Miss? We’re still half a mile from the entrance.
Stop. Now.
As the car ground to a halt, Evelyn looked at the road ahead. A thin, nearly invisible line of oil had been smeared across the asphalt on the sharpest turn of the cliffside path. Above them, a pile of construction debris—heavy steel beams—rested precariously on a slope, held back by a frayed nylon rope.
A classic accident setup, she thought. The oil causes the skid, the impact vibrates the slope, and the beams finish the job. Silas Vane’s signature.
Evelyn stepped out of the car, her heels clicking on the damp road. She walked toward the edge of the cliff, looking down at the jagged rocks and the churning grey sea below.
Check the dashcam, she told the chauffeur, who was now pale as he realized what they had avoided. Get a clear shot of that rope. It’s been cut halfway through. Then, call Alistair Vance. Tell him the pest control has arrived.
As the chauffeur scrambled back to the car, a figure emerged from the fog, walking slowly down the slope. It wasn't Silas. It was Lucian.
He looked disheveled, his expensive tie undone, his eyes bloodshot. He didn't look like a successor anymore; he looked like a man who had realized the abyss was laughing at him.
You were supposed to be in the car, Evelyn, he said, his voice shaking. It was supposed to be over. Everything was supposed to go back to normal!
Evelyn looked at him with a profound sense of pity. Normal, Lucian? You think Silas Vane would let you go back to normal after you failed so spectacularly? You didn't plan this. You were just sent here to watch.
Lucian lunged at her, his hands reaching for her throat. You ruined everything! Lyra won't even look at me! The Board is freezing my assets! You’re a monster!
Evelyn stepped aside with a grace born of years of repressed rage. She didn't strike him. She simply watched as he stumbled toward the edge, his expensive leather shoes slipping on the oil. He teetered on the brink, his arms flailing, his eyes wide with a terror he had once inflicted on her.
Evelyn reached out her hand. For a split second, the old Evelyn—the girl who had loved him—screamed to pull him back. But that girl was dead.
She held her hand out, just inches from his reach, and then... she closed it into a fist.
Loyalty has a price, Lucian, she whispered, her voice a cold wind. And you’ve run out of credit.
Lucian’s scream was cut short as he fell, landing on a narrow ledge ten feet down, his leg twisting at an unnatural angle.
The sound of a high-performance engine tore through the fog. A black SUV slammed to a halt, and Alistair Vance stepped out. He took in the oil, the cut rope, and the broken man on the ledge in a single glance.
He walked over to Evelyn, his face a mask of cold fury. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his grip almost painful.
I told you he was dangerous, Alistair snarled, his eyes searching hers for a crack. You almost let him end it.
I didn't almost anything, Alistair, Evelyn said, leaning into his touch despite herself. I led him here. I needed a witness to his attempted murder. Now, Lucian is a criminal, and Silas is exposed.
Alistair stared at her, his anger morphing into a terrifying respect. You used yourself as bait, he whispered, his thumb brushing the line of her jaw. You’re either the most brilliant strategist I’ve ever met, or you’re truly insane.
In this world, Alistair, Evelyn said, looking into the predator’s eyes, those two things are exactly the same.
- Writer
