Chapter 4
Arthur stood up slowly, dusting off his knees with a flick of his gloved hand. He gestured for Marcus and the other bodyguards to remain by the elevator banks while he took Clara by the hand. Her small fingers curled naturally around his thumb, surprisingly warm despite the autumn chill outside. He led her away from the grand lobby toward a private reception lounge lined with dark mahogany wood and leather armchairs.
An adult woman in a crisp white pantsuit was already pacing near the floor-to-ceiling windows of the lounge. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a neat twist, and she held a tablet in one hand while nervously tapping her fingernails against the glass screen. This was Helen, Arthur’s chief legal counsel and executive assistant, summoned instantly by Marcus’s quiet radio check.
Helen turned as the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind them. Her professional demeanor faltered the moment she saw the young girl holding Arthur’s hand. Her eyes darted from Clara to the pink backpack, and finally to Arthur’s solemn face.
"Mr. Vance," Helen said, her voice laced with sudden caution. "Security called up. They said there was an incident at the front desk regarding a visitor, but—"
"Cancel my afternoon appointments, Helen," Arthur interrupted, his voice even but carrying an absolute finality that brooked no argument. "All of them. Push the board meeting to tomorrow morning."
Helen blinked, lowering her tablet. "Sir, the acquisitions committee is flying in from Chicago. You can't just—"
"I said cancel them," Arthur repeated, his grey eyes locking onto hers with a cold intensity that silenced any further protest. He looked down at Clara, who was quietly examining a bronze statue of a rearing horse on a nearby pedestal. "And I want you to pull up the complete tenant registry for the Maple Street residential block. The one we acquired last quarter through the Meridian shell."
Helen’s face drained of color. She knew that property well. It was the low-income housing complex slated for demolition to make way for the new logistics hub. "Mr. Vance, why? That’s handled by the property management firm. We outsourced all tenant relations months ago."
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"I don't care who it was outsourced to," Arthur said quietly, walking over to pour a glass of water from a crystal pitcher on the sideboard. He didn't drink it; he just held the heavy tumbler in his hand, feeling the condensation against his palm. "Bring me the file. Now."
Helen hesitated for a fraction of a second, noting the subtle tension in her employer's posture—a tension she had only seen twice in the ten years she had worked for him. Without another word, she turned on her heel and hurried out of the lounge, her white heels clicking sharply against the parquet floor.
