Chapter 7 - Secrets in the Dark
The rain continued its rhythmic, metallic drumming against the massive plate-glass window, the lights of Chicago shimmering through the deluge like a scattered constellation of dying stars.
Inside the office, the silence was absolute.
Alexander did not shift in his leather chair. He did not look toward his bodyguard, nor did he reach for the glass of bourbon resting on the desk. He simply stared at Derek, his hazel eyes dark and deep as an open grave. The warm light from the brass desk lamp carved sharp shadows across his cheekbones and the strong, stubborn line of his jaw.
“The riverfront zoning permits,” Alexander repeated, his voice silky, quiet, and deceptively soft.
Derek nodded eagerly, a pathetic spark of relief illuminating his pale features. “Yes. The entire municipal packet. My father’s firm holds the primary easement rights. It’s worth thirty million in municipal subsidies over the next five years. It’s yours, Mr. Moretti. Uncontested. All I want is Emily returned to my custody, out of sight, before she creates an irreversible scandal for both of us.”
Alexander tilted his head slightly, studying the young socialite as if he were an amusing puzzle.
“You think very highly of your father’s influence, Derek,” Alexander murmured.
Derek’s smile faltered. “I… well, he has chaired the committee for twelve years—”
“Your father lost his majority on that committee at three o’clock this afternoon,” Alexander interrupted, his voice dropping into a clinical, devastating rhythm. “Councilman Vane resigned his seat due to ‘health concerns.’ His replacement, appointed by the mayor twenty minutes later, is Marcus Reyes. Do you know Marcus Reyes, Derek?”
Derek’s mouth worked soundlessly, his skin turning from pale to a sickly gray. “Reyes? He’s… he’s a labor organizer from the docks.”
“He is my cousin,” Alexander said softly.
The words dropped into the room like heavy stones falling into deep, dark water.
“I don’t need your father’s permits,” Alexander continued, his voice steady, rhythmic, and chillingly devoid of malice. “I don’t need his municipal easements. I bought the southern parcels of that harbor through four holding companies in November, while you were in Aspen skiing on your wife’s family trust.”
Beneath the desk, Emily pressed her hand against her mouth, a silent, trembling gasp catching in her throat. Her family trust. Her father had left her a commercial estate on the south branch before he passed away four years ago—an estate Derek had spent their entire marriage attempting to liquidate into his own accounts.
Alexander leaned forward, resting his thick forearms on the desk blotter, the black ink of his sleeves coming into the sharp glare of the lamp. His gaze pinned Derek to the floorboards.
“You come into my establishment,” Alexander whispered, each syllable measured and heavy with lethal intent. “You kick open my private doors. You insult my hospitality. And then you attempt to trade me my own harbor in exchange for a girl hiding in the dark with bruises on her skin.”
May you like
Derek’s breath hitched. “She… she’s not—”
“Did you honestly believe,” Alexander said, rising slowly to his feet, his six-foot-two frame towering over the desk, casting an immense, terrifying shadow across the room, “that a man in my position doesn't know who enters his building? Did you think I wouldn't see the fingerprints on her wrist?”
