Chapter 4 - THE MAN AT THE TABLE
Victor Hale arrived for dinner on Thursday.
Dorcas expected a monster.
Instead, she met a grandfather.
Victor was seventy-one, silver-haired and charming, carrying flowers for Eleanor and a bottle of wine for Mason.
He hugged Henry.
Knew the names of the maids.
Complimented Dorcas's roast chicken.
That frightened her more than arrogance would have.
Dangerous people rarely looked dangerous when danger had worked for them for twenty years.
Mason played his role perfectly.
“You look tired,” Victor said.
“I haven't been sleeping.”
“Your father had the same problem.”
Dorcas nearly dropped the serving spoon.
Mason did not react.
Victor continued eating.
“Arthur worked himself sick.”
“So everyone says.”
“Because it's true.”
“Was he paranoid?”
Victor's knife stopped.
Only for a fraction of a second.
“Near the end.”
“About what?”
“Mason.”
Victor smiled sadly.
“Why dig up ghosts?”
“Curiosity.”
“Curiosity is expensive.”
“So is ignorance.”
Victor studied him.
Then laughed.
“There you are. Arthur's son.”
Dorcas saw it.
Not affection.
A warning.
After dinner, Victor entered the kitchen.
“Excellent meal.”
“Thank you.”
“You're new.”
“That's usually what new cooks are.”
He smiled.
“I've heard about you.”
“Good things?”
“No.”
“Those are usually more interesting.”
Victor leaned against the counter.
“Mason needs stability.”
“He has a lot of furniture.”
“I mean people who understand him.”
“Do you?”
“I've known him since birth.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Victor's smile faded.
“You're bold.”
“I cook for a living. Knives don't scare me.”
His eyes moved toward the knife in her hand.
Neither spoke.
Then he smiled again.
“Good night, Miss Reed.”
When he left, Dorcas found Mason standing in the pantry doorway.
“You heard?”
“Everything.”
“Your friend is creepy.”
“He isn't my friend.”
“He thinks he owns you.”
Mason looked toward the hall.
“For twenty years, he practically did.”
Victor had guided Mason after Arthur's death.
Helped him take control of Meridian.
Taught him how to negotiate.
Introduced him to investors.
Had become the closest thing Mason had to a father.
That betrayal hurt differently.
The next morning, Mason discovered $214 million had passed through shell companies tied indirectly to Victor.
But before he could take the evidence to the board, someone struck first.
At 9:03 a.m., Blackwell Meridian's general counsel called.
A video had been leaked.
It showed Mason screaming at household employees.
Another clip showed him ordering the gates locked.
Another showed Eleanor unconscious.
The headline appeared before noon:
BILLIONAIRE BLACKWELL'S PRIVATE BREAKDOWN: BOARD QUESTIONS CEO'S FITNESS.
By three, Meridian shares had fallen.
By five, three board members demanded emergency medical evaluation.
Victor called Mason personally.
“I can protect you.”
“From what?”
“Yourself.”
Mason almost crushed the phone.
Victor continued.
“Take temporary leave. Thirty days. Let me manage things.”
“No.”
“Mason, don't be your father.”
That sentence almost worked.
Dorcas saw it.
Twenty years of shame rose behind Mason's eyes.
Then he looked at her.
She shook her head.
Mason answered calmly.
“I'll see you at the board meeting.”
He hung up.
Dorcas smiled.
“What?”
“You didn't yell.”
“I can if you'd prefer.”
“Growth looks good on you.”
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
It transformed his face.
Dorcas suddenly understood why Eleanor watched them with such suspicious amusement.
That night, Mason cooked with Dorcas.
Technically, he chopped onions.
Badly.
“You own restaurants,” Dorcas said.
“I own buildings containing restaurants.”
“You hold a knife like you're negotiating with it.”
“It should cooperate.”
“Onions rarely respond to intimidation.”
His first cut sent half an onion rolling onto the floor.
Dorcas laughed so hard she had to grip the counter.
Mason stared.
“You find this amusing?”
“Extremely.”
“You're fired.”
“No, I'm not.”
“No.”
He smiled.
“I'm not.”
The moment became quiet.
They were standing too close.
Dorcas noticed flour on his sleeve.
Mason noticed something in her expression.
Neither moved.
Then Eleanor called from the doorway.
“If you two intend to stare at each other until dinner burns, I would appreciate a sandwich.”
They jumped apart.
Eleanor smiled innocently.
Later that evening, Mason found Dorcas outside beside the frozen garden.
“Why did you become a cook?”
“My mother worked nights. I had two younger brothers.”
“So you learned.”
“I learned badly first.”
He smiled.
“What happened to your family?”
“My brothers have families. Mom died seven years ago.”
“Your father?”
“Gone before that.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Mason looked across the lawn.
“I don't know how to do this.”
“Cook?”
“Trust someone.”
Dorcas understood.
“You don't do it all at once.”
“How?”
“You give them something small and see whether they break it.”
“What have I given you?”
“The truth.”
He looked at her.
“And?”
“I haven't broken it.”
Mason took one step closer.
Then every light in the mansion went out.
Dorcas turned.
“Mason?”
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Dorcas.”
“You've learned nothing.”
They ran inside together.
The backup generator failed.
Henry shouted from upstairs.
Eleanor.
They reached her bedroom.
Empty.
The wheelchair stood beside the bed.
A window was open.
Mason went white.
“Mother!”
They searched the corridor.
Nothing.
Then Dorcas saw muddy tracks.
Not leading outside.
Leading toward Arthur's sealed study.
They ran.
The door stood open.
Inside, Eleanor sat on the floor.
Alive.
Shaking.
Beside her lay the cassette recorder.
And written across the wall in red paint were five words:
ARTHUR SHOULD HAVE STAYED QUIET.
Mason dropped beside his mother.
Dorcas checked the room.
No attacker.
No broken window.
Whoever had done it knew the house.
Eleanor clutched Mason's shirt.
“He was here.”
“Who?”
“I couldn't see.”
“Mother, who?”
Her eyes filled with terror.
May you like
“He said you were next.”
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