Chapter 6 - Uninvited Guests At The Iron Gates
The tires of my sedan crunched over the gravel driveway just as the afternoon sun hit the sweeping wrought-iron perimeter of the estate. I killed the engine, the heat of the steering wheel still lingering against my palms, and stared ahead through the windshield. Idling right outside the main security barrier was a matte-black luxury SUV, its tinted windows gleaming coldly in the daylight.
Even before the driver's side door swung open, I knew the silhouette. Marcus Vance. My chief rival on the foundation board and a man who smelled weakness the way a shark smelled blood in the surf.
I grabbed the manila envelope containing the courthouse files from the passenger seat, shoved it deep inside my dark trousers, and stepped out onto the gravel. The air was dry and sharp, carrying the distant scent of pine from the surrounding hills. As I approached the gates, the intercom hissed to life, and the estate's head of security, an aging veteran named Miller, looked up from his booth with a tight, apologetic grimace.
"Mr. Varric," Miller's voice crackled through the speaker. "Mr. Vance arrived five minutes ago. Says he has urgent foundation business. He’s demanding entry."
I didn't answer Miller immediately. Instead, I walked right up to the iron bars, where Marcus had already stepped out of his vehicle. He wore a tailored charcoal suit that seemed immune to the dust of the county road, his silver-streaked hair slicked back with clinical precision. A faint, knowing smirk played at the corner of his mouth.
"Varric," Marcus called out, his voice smooth and carrying effortlessly over the low hum of his idling engine. "Hard man to reach these days. Your phone has been going straight to voicemail. I trust everything is all right at the manor? The board has been whispering about your sudden absence from the quarterly review."
I rested my hands casually against the cold iron of the gate, keeping my breathing even. I couldn't afford to let him see the raw edge of my anxiety. "The foundation business can wait, Marcus. I'm taking personal time."
"Personal time," Marcus repeated, tasting the words as if they were a bitter vintage. He took a slow, deliberate step closer to the barrier, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the grand facade of the house visible in the background. "Strange time for a sabbatical, considering we're weeks away from the redevelopment vote. And stranger still are the rumors coming out of the village. People talking about a crying baby, a frantic domestic staff, and a mysterious infant living under your roof."
My stomach tightened into a hard knot, but my expression remained locked in a cold, steady mask. "People in this county talk about crop yields and weather patterns too, Marcus. If you drove all the way out here to gossip, you wasted your gas."
"I don't deal in gossip, Varric. I deal in facts," Marcus said, his tone sharpening, losing its diplomatic veneer. He leaned in closer to the bars, lowering his voice so only I could hear. "If there’s a child inside that house—an unregistered dependent that could complicate your standing, or worse, tie into those messy old trust fund audits—it becomes a liability for the entire board. Open the gate, let me take a quick look around, and we can keep this strictly between us. Otherwise, I take what I know straight to the press."
The threat hung heavily in the air between us, as tangible as the iron bars under my fingers. My pulse hammered against my ribs, but my voice remained ice-cold. "You have no jurisdiction here, Marcus. And if you take a single unverified rumor to the newspapers, I will personally strip you of your committee seat before the sun sets."
Before Marcus could frame a retort, the subtle crunch of footsteps sounded on the gravel behind me. I glanced back over my shoulder. Elena stood at the edge of the marble walkway, her maroon uniform crisp, her face pale but resolute. Cradled securely against her chest, wrapped in the light blue onesie, was Nico. The baby was completely silent, his breathing deep and steady against her collarbone. She didn't say a word, but her dark eyes met mine with a silent, urgent plea: Get him out of sight.
I turned back to Marcus, stepping squarely in front of the gate's center seam to block any possible line of sight toward the path.
"You're making a mistake, Varric," Marcus muttered, his eyes darting briefly past my shoulder, trying to peer around my frame. "Stubbornness is a failing in our line of work."
"Leave, Marcus," I said, my voice dropping an octave, carrying a finality that brooked no further debate. "This is private property."
Marcus held my gaze for a long, agonizing moment, his jaw tight. He knew he couldn't force the gate without triggering a legal war he wasn't yet ready to fight. With a slow, calculated smirk, he stepped back toward his SUV.
"Enjoy your privacy while it lasts, Varric," Marcus said, pulling open his car door. "The board meeting on Monday won't be nearly as forgiving."
May you like
He slid into the leather interior, and the SUV reversed down the long gravel drive in a cloud of dust, leaving me standing alone at the threshold with the heavy silence of the estate pressing down on all sides.
###
