Chapter 18
784 Words
The West Study was a room designed for silence. Heavy oak bookshelves reached toward the vaulted ceiling, and the scent of old leather and expensive tobacco hung in the air. Unlike the rest of the manor, which felt like a stage set for a grand play, this room felt functional. It was the brain of the Vane operation.
Silas was sitting behind a massive desk, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He wasn't brooding; he was focused, his eyes moving rapidly across a series of printed reports. He looked up the moment Roxanne entered, and the tension in his jaw visibly eased.
"You survived," he said, his voice a low, tired rasp. He leaned back in his chair, gesturing to the armchair across from him. "I half-expected my mother to have you picking out silver patterns for the next three hours."
Roxanne sank into the chair, the plush velvet welcoming her exhausted frame. "She’s persistent. I’ll give her that. But she isn't just about flowers and linens, Silas. She cares. She spent the last hour asking about my family."
Silas went still, his grey eyes searching hers. "And what did you tell her?"
"The truth, mostly," Roxanne said, looking at the flickering fire in the hearth. "I told her my parents are gone. And I told her about Mia."
Silas didn't look away. There was a quiet intensity in the room, the kind that only happens when the masks are set aside. "My mother has a way of finding the things people try to hide. She’s the heart of this family. My father might have built the walls, but she’s the one who makes sure there’s something inside them worth protecting."
"She talked about you and your brothers," Roxanne added. "How you’re all protectors in your own way. It made me feel... strange. Like I was actually part of the legacy she’s so proud of."
Silas looked down at his desk, his fingers tracing the edge of a mahogany pen set. "She wants this to be real, Roxanne. After everything this family has been through—the wars, the losses—she wants a moment of peace. She sees you as that peace."
Roxanne let out a soft, bitter laugh. "I’m a Private Investigator hunting a traitor in your inner circle, Silas. I’m the furthest thing from peace."
"Maybe," Silas murmured, looking back up. "But for her, you're the woman who finally made me sit at a dinner table without a phone in my hand. That’s more than anyone else has managed."
The silence that followed wasn't cold; it was heavy with the weight of the lie they were telling. Roxanne thought about David, the man who had taught her that every fortress has a flaw. She thought about how David had been more of a father to her than her own, and how he’d probably tell her that the Vanes’ loyalty was their greatest weakness.
"I saw the encryption at the base today," Roxanne said, shifting the conversation back to the mission. "The way it’s layered... it’s sophisticated. It reminded me of the style my mentor used to use. It’s clean, but it’s got these subtle distractions built-in."
Silas leaned forward, his professional focus snapping back into place. "Your mentor. The one you mentioned to Jules?"
"Yeah," Roxanne said, her voice turning fond for a moment. "He taught me everything. He used to say that if you want to hide a tree, you build a forest. I didn't find a name today, but I found the 'forest.' Whoever is doing this knows exactly how to make the data look like a random glitch."
"Then we keep looking," Silas said firmly. He stood up, walking around the desk to stand near her chair. "But not tonight. Tonight, we have to play the part of the happy couple for my father. He’s been asking for the audit results for the company, but I told him we’re taking the evening off."
Roxanne looked up at him. From this angle, the "Ice King" looked remarkably human. "You’re a good son, Silas. Even if you have a funny way of showing it."
"And you’re a very good liar, Roxanne," Silas replied, reaching down to offer her a hand. "Let’s go. Dinner is in twenty minutes, and if we’re late, my mother will assume we were... busy."
Roxanne took his hand, feeling the callouses on his palm—the mark of a man who knew how to use a weapon as well as a pen. "Lead the way, Ice King. Let’s go give them the show they’re paying for."
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