The sound of Dominic Vale’s cane striking the marble floor carried through the great room like a gunshot.

The council members had dispersed hurriedly, eager to distance themselves from the wreckage of Arthur’s conspiracy and reaffirm their absolute loyalty to Dominic. The investigation into the rest of Arthur’s network was already underway, led by Vincent and a team of trusted internal auditors.

Dominic stood alone in his private study on the second floor, looking out over the rain-slicked courtyards of the estate. The storm was finally beginning to break, the heavy purple clouds parting to reveal a sliver of pale moonlight reflecting off Lake Michigan.

He poured himself a finger of neat bourbon, swirling the amber liquid in a crystal glass. His leg felt steady. The phantom pain was gone, replaced by the deep, resonant ache of a body healing itself.

Suddenly, a soft knock rattled his study door.

"Enter," Dominic said.

The door clicked open, and Clare Rowan stepped inside, holding little Ellie’s hand. The four-year-old was rubbing her eyes sleepily, clutching her wooden latch toy tightly against her chest.

"Mr. Vale," Clare said softly, keeping her gaze lowered respectfully. "Mrs. Gable showed us to the suite. Everything is wonderful. But... Ellie wouldn't go to sleep until she gave you something."

Dominic turned, surprised. He set his glass down on the mahogany desk and walked over, kneeling down until he was at eye level with the little girl.

"Is that right, Ellie?" Dominic asked, his rough exterior melting away into an unfamiliar gentleness. "What did you bring me?"

Ellie blinked her heavy eyelids, stepped forward, and held out a small, shiny metal screw that she had somehow unscrewed from her wooden toy earlier that evening.

"For your leg," Ellie whispered sleepily. "So it stays fixed."

Dominic stared at the tiny screw in her small, warm palm. A sudden, unexpected lump formed in his throat. This little girl, who belonged to a quiet, ordinary woman working in his estate, had accidentally unraveled a conspiracy that could have destroyed everything he had spent thirty years building. She hadn't asked for a reward. She hadn't understood the danger. She had simply seen something broken and tried to fix it.

Dominic carefully took the screw from her hand, holding it as if it were a rare diamond.

"Thank you, Ellie," Dominic said, his voice thick with emotion. "I think this is the most important piece of hardware in the entire house."

Clare smiled weakly, a mixture of relief and lingering nervousness in her eyes. "Sir, I... I don't know how to thank you for keeping us safe tonight. And I’m sorry she wandered into the great room. We’ll be out of your hair first thing in the morning."

"You aren't going anywhere, Clare," Dominic said, standing up and leaning on his cane, though he barely needed it now.

She looked startled. "Sir?"

"The estate employs dozens of people, but very few of them actually pay attention to the details," Dominic said, his gaze steady. "I have an opening for a senior estate coordinator—someone intelligent, observant, and fiercely honest. The salary comes with full healthcare, housing on the grounds, and a college trust fund for Ellie when she turns eighteen."

Clare’s breath hitched. She stared at him, tears welling in her eyes, realizing that her entire life had just pivoted on a single, miraculous moment of grace.