Chapter 4 - The Serpent’s Ring
An hour later, Lily was fast asleep in Adrian’s arms.
He sat in a rocking chair in the yellow room, watching her chest rise and fall. Grace stood near the doorway, holding a cup of tea he hadn’t touched.
“What do we do now, Mr. Vale?” Grace asked quietly.
“We go back,” Adrian said, his voice dropping into a register that made the air in the room feel heavy.
“Back to the mansion? Marcus is still there. If he realizes why you left—”
“Marcus thinks I’m a broken man mourning a ghost,” Adrian interrupted, standing up carefully so as not to wake Lily. He transferred her to Grace’s arms. “He thinks he won. But a wolf doesn't hunt until he knows where the pack is hiding.”
“You’re going to confront him?”
“No,” Adrian said, his eyes flashing with cold steel. “I’m going to give him a choice.”
He walked out to the car, leaving Lily safe in Grace’s care with two armed men from his personal loyal detail stationed outside the house.
As he drove back toward Lake Shore Drive, Adrian dialed a number on his encrypted car phone.
“Vance,” a sharp voice answered.
“Vance, I need the financial ledgers from the South Branch project for the last three years. Specifically, the wire transfers authorized by Marcus Reed.”
“Boss, Marcus handles all the internal security audits,” Vance replied, surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Do it. And pull the cell tower pings for the service road on Hawthorne Ridge from the night of October fourteenth.”
“That data was wiped by city dispatch.”
“Nothing is ever wiped if you own the server company,” Adrian said coldly. “Find it.”
When Adrian arrived back at the estate, the memorial guests had gone. The crystal chandeliers were dimmed, and the flowers were being cleared away by the remaining staff.
Marcus stood in the grand foyer, pouring a glass of scotch. When he saw Adrian enter alone, an expression of carefully calculated concern crossed his face.
“Adrian. I was wondering when you’d be back. The senator was asking about you.”
Adrian walked up the steps, stopping three feet from his best friend.
Marcus took a sip of his drink. “You look different. Lighter, almost.”
“Do I?” Adrian asked quietly.
“You shouldn’t run off like that, man. Grief makes us do crazy things. Chasing after a housekeeper’s kid because she said something strange... it’s not healthy.”
Adrian stared at Marcus—at the expensive suit, the steady hands, and the silver ring on his right index finger. Carved into the metal was the small, intricate shape of a coiled serpent.
“You know, Marcus,” Adrian said, his voice steady. “When Evelyn died, you told me the fire consumed everything.”
Marcus didn’t flinch. “It did. The car was burned to a shell.”
“And yet, a child’s bracelet survived. A hospital blanket survived. But the people who ordered the hit... they thought they burned every loose end.”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. “What are you talking about?”
“Thomas Kane survived, Marcus.”
The glass in Marcus’s hand didn't shatter, but his fingers tightened so hard the crystal groaned. For a split second, the mask slipped.
“Thomas is dead,” Marcus said, though his voice lost its easy rhythm.
“He was,” Adrian replied, stepping closer. “Until today. And he told me a very interesting story about men wearing Vale security jackets pushing an SUV off a ridge. Men taking orders from someone with a very specific ring.”
Marcus slowly set the glass down on the marble console table. His hand drifted toward his jacket pocket, where his concealed pistol rested.
“You shouldn’t have gone looking for ghosts, Adrian,” Marcus said softly, his tone shifting from friendship to pure, venomous ambition. “The syndicate was stagnating. You wanted to play domestic with an art teacher from Wisconsin. You wanted to turn a criminal empire into a charity fund. Someone had to take the reins.”
“And the baby?” Adrian’s voice was barely a whisper. “Was a three-day-old infant a threat to your ambition, too?”
“She was an heir,” Marcus sneered. “And heirs complicate succession. It’s just business, Adrian. Nothing personal.”
“Business,” Adrian repeated.
Before Marcus could clear leather, Adrian moved with terrifying, blinding speed.
He didn't draw a gun. He lunged across the marble, grabbing Marcus by the throat and slamming him backward against the mahogany wall. The impact knocked the wind out of Marcus, his pistol clattering uselessly to the floor.
“You killed the woman I loved,” Adrian whispered, pressing his forearm against Marcus’s windpipe. “You tried to murder my daughter. And you thought you could stand beside me at her funeral.”
Marcus clawed at Adrian’s arm, his face turning purple. “Kill me... and the rest of the council... will tear your empire apart...”
“My empire?” Adrian smiled grimly. “I built this empire with my bare hands before you even knew how to hold a gun. It was never yours to inherit.”
He didn't kill him. Not yet. Death was too easy for a betrayal of this magnitude.
Instead, Adrian signaled toward the shadows. Four armed guards emerged from the hallway, their weapons drawn.
“Lock him in the lower vault,” Adrian ordered, releasing his grip.
Marcus collapsed onto the marble, gasping for air, coughing violently as the guards hauled him to his feet.
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“You won’t get away with this, Adrian!” Marcus screamed as they dragged him toward the basement stairs. “The council will come for you!”
“Let them try,” Adrian said.
