Chapter 7 - The Confrontation in the Study
-7-
The door swung open, flooding the dark study with a harsh glare of hallway light.
Nathan stood in the doorway, his hair disheveled, his expensive silk tie ripped loose at the collar, and his eyes wide with a manic, desperate fury. Behind him stood two private security guards holding heavy industrial flashlights.
“I told you she’d come back here,” Nathan hissed, stepping into the room and spotting Emma standing beside the bookshelf. “You always were too sentimental about this dusty old room, Emma.”
Emma turned slowly to face him, her posture upright, her face completely devoid of fear. The bruised cheek from his slap the day before stood out sharply against her pale skin, but her gaze was as cold and hard as polished steel.
“You’re trespassing in my father’s house, Nathan,” Emma said calmly.
Nathan laughed—a high, manic sound that lacked any trace of humor. He walked across the room, stopping just a few feet away from her, his chest heaving. “Your father’s house? Everything your father owned belongs to Carver Holdings now. And Carver Holdings belongs to me—and to Celeste.”
“For about twelve more hours,” Emma replied evenly. “Before the federal indictments hit your desk and the true board of directors strips you of every share you stole.”
Nathan’s face twisted into an ugly mask of rage. He reached out, grabbing Emma by the lapels of her coat, shoving her back against the bookshelves with enough force to rattle the remaining volumes.
“You think you’re so smart, don't you?” Nathan snarled, his face inches from hers. “You think running to the police or leaking files to some federal bureaucrat is going to save you? The entire judicial district in Columbus is in our pocket! The judge signing your emergency psychiatric commitment order tomorrow morning is on my payroll!”
“Is that why you look so terrified?” Emma asked quietly, looking straight into his bloodshot eyes. “Because you know that once the generational clause unlocks on Friday noon, you’re nothing more than a common criminal who stole from a dead man who isn't actually dead?”
Nathan flinched. The word dead hung in the air between them like a physical blow. His grip on her coat slackened for a fraction of a second.
“What did you say?” Nathan whispered, his voice dropping to a harsh, paranoid rasp.
“You heard me, Nathan,” Emma smiled coldly. “My father is coming back. And he’s bringing the real ledger with him.”
Before Nathan could process the words, one of the security guards stepped forward, radio crackling loudly against his shoulder.
“Mr. Carver! We’ve got a problem!” the guard shouted from the hallway. “The local precinct just radioed down—the federal marshals have frozen all corporate accounts, and the Attorney General’s office is executing a search warrant on the main downtown tower right now!”
Nathan’s head snapped toward the hallway. The color drained completely from his face, leaving him looking like a ghost. He shoved Emma away so hard she stumbled against the desk, and bolted out of the study without looking back.
“Secure her in the basement!” Nathan roared over his shoulder to the guards. “Don't let her leave this house until I figure out how to get us across the state line!”
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The two guards lunged forward, grabbing Emma by the arms. But Emma didn't fight them physically. Instead, as they dragged her toward the dark, narrow service stairs leading down to the cellar, she smiled into the dark.
Friday noon was coming. And the trap was about to snap shut.
