Chapter 4 - The Gardeners' SecretEmmett led me out of the chaotic dining hall, down a private corridor, and into his personal study. The room smelled of old leather, pipe tobacco, and polished mahogany. A massive wall of windows looked out over the sprawling green estate I had spent the last two months weeding.
He closed the heavy oak door behind us, shutting out the distant echoes of shouting family members and weeping accusations.
"Well," Emmett said, walking over to a crystal decanter on the sideboard and pouring two fingers of amber bourbon. He didn't offer me a drink, but he placed the glass down and leaned back against the desk, studying me with a new, profound intensity. "You saved my life. And in the span of twenty minutes, you dismantled a multi-million-dollar corporate coup."
"I just did my job," I said quietly, keeping my hands clasped in front of my apron. "Though I suspect the landscaping department won't be my primary focus anymore."
A faint, genuine smile touched Emmett’s lips. "I should hope not. My chief financial adviser is currently in zip-ties in the basement, my fiancée is packing her bags under police supervision, and my uncle is having a mild existential crisis in the dining room."
He walked closer, stopping just a foot away. Up close, I could see the fine lines around his eyes—the exhaustion of a man who carried the weight of an empire on his shoulders.
"Why didn't you go to the police yesterday?" Emmett asked softly. "When you heard that recording... why bring it to me instead of walking out the gate?"
"Because the police in Savannah answer to the people who buy their cruisers," I answered without hesitation. "If I had gone to the precinct, Warren would have intercepted it before the sergeant even pressed play. The only person who could stop a monster like Warren Pike was the man he was trying to kill."
Emmett reached out. For the second time that morning, his fingers brushed mine. But this time, there was no rush, no urgency. He gently untied the straps of my dirty canvas apron, letting it slip from my waist and fall softly to the floor. Beneath it, I wore a simple black turtleneck and trousers—clothes I had worn under my work gear just in case things went wrong.
"You're not a gardener, Elena," Emmett said, his voice dropping into a register that made my breath catch. "At least, not by trade. Tell me the truth."
"My father was the chief accountant for Howerin Logistics twelve years ago," I said, meeting his gaze steadily. "When he refused to sign off on a fraudulent shipping manifest that Warren Pike fabricated, he was framed for embezzlement. He died in a state prison before his appeal went through. I took a job pulling weeds in your yard because it was the only way to get close enough to find out who really killed him."
Emmett’s eyes darkened, a deep, smoldering rage replacing his earlier coldness. "Warren."
"Warren," I confirmed. "And my father left me one thing before he died—a digital copy of the original ledger that Warren altered. It was encrypted. I needed access to your private terminal to decrypt it."
May you like
Emmett didn't look angry that I had infiltrated his estate under false pretenses. Instead, a grim, admiring light entered his pale eyes.
"You didn't just save my life, Elena," Emmett murmured, taking my hand and turning it over, tracing the calluses on my palm where soil had settled deep into the skin. "You came for justice."
Related Stories
