Chapter 3 - The Inner Circle and the SerpentBy noon, the atmosphere inside the Brookline estate had shifted from ordinary luxury to a pressurized vacuum chamber.
Gideon had not left his private study since morning. The broken crystal had been cleaned up by a terrified Iris Bell, who had shot me a look of pure, unadulterated panic when she entered the room with her dustpan.
I was currently stationed in the second-floor linen closet, pretending to fold pillowcases while my mind raced a mile a minute. I had crossed a line. I was no longer an invisible maid fading into the background of a wealthy man’s estate; I was an active participant in a high-stakes conspiracy that could get us both killed before the week was out.
The heavy oak door of the master hallway clicked open downstairs. Heavy footsteps echoed up the grand staircase.
Marcus Vance.
Marcus was Gideon’s second-in-command, a man who had served the Vitali family for over a decade. He was smooth, impeccably dressed in custom Italian suits, and possessed an easy, charming smile that managed to soothe nervous investors and silence rebellious dockworkers alike. Whenever Gideon was away or incapacitated, Marcus was the face of the empire.
And, according to what I had pieced together from late-night phone calls overheard through the thick walls of the East Wing, Marcus was also the man standing to inherit the operational control of Vitali Holdings if Gideon was permanently sidelined by medical retirement.
I slipped out of the linen closet just as Marcus reached the top of the landing. He was carrying a leather briefcase in one hand and a fresh cup of espresso in the other.
“Clara, right?” Marcus stopped, flashing a polished, white-toothed smile that didn't quite reach his cold blue eyes.
“Yes, Mr. Vance,” I said, keeping my eyes respectfully lowered, playing the part of the meek, timid maid.
“Have you seen Gideon? The board of directors is calling from New York for the midday briefing, and his secretary says he’s locked himself in the study.”
“He’s inside, sir. He asked not to be disturbed.”
Marcus frowned slightly, his gaze lingering on me a fraction longer than necessary. There was an analytical sharpness to his look—the look of a man who didn't trust anything or anyone that wasn't under his direct control.
“Right. Thank you, Clara.”
He walked down the hallway toward the master study, rapping twice on the heavy wood before letting himself in.
I waited three seconds, then slipped down the hallway, stopping just outside the cracked door of the study.
“—the New York shipment is delayed, Gideon,” Marcus’s voice drifted out into the hallway, smooth and professional. “We need your sign-off on the customs rerouting before three o'clock, or we lose half a million in transit fees.”
Gideon’s voice was lower, rumbling like distant thunder. “Let it wait, Marcus.”
“It can’t wait, boss. The board is getting antsy. With your eyesight deteriorating the way it is, people are starting to wonder if you’re fit to hold the reins. Maybe it’s time to seriously discuss the medical transition plan we talked about last month.”
A heavy pause hung in the air.
“Medical transition,” Gideon repeated, the words dripping with ice. “You’re very eager to see me step down, Marcus.”
“I’m just practical, Gideon,” Marcus replied smoothly, though a subtle edge of tension crept into his tone. “Someone has to keep the empire running while you’re sitting in the dark.”
“I am not in the dark yet, Marcus,” Gideon said.
I heard the distinct sound of a chair scraping against hardwood, followed by heavy footsteps approaching the door. Panic surged through my chest. I scrambled backward, diving around the corner into the intersecting hallway just as the door swung open.
Marcus stepped out, adjusting his tie, his expression clouded with a mixture of frustration and suspicion. He looked down the hallway toward the spot where I had just been standing, his eyes narrowing.
May you like
When Marcus retreated back down the stairs, I let out a long, shaky breath.
My suspicion had just turned into certainty. Marcus Vance didn't just want Gideon to step down—he was engineering his demise, drop by bitter drop, every single morning.
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