The Alder Room didn't welcome outsiders.
Tucked at the far end of the Harbor Club — a place where old names still mattered — it smelled faintly of pipe smoke and parchment.
Two leather armchairs faced each other across a low table. A silver tray rested between them — one glass of whiskey untouched, the other already half gone.
Nicholas sat with the posture of a man used to making decisions. Unhurried, unreadable.
Alex entered without knocking.
"You took your time," Nicholas said mildly.
"I had to get past three reporters, two board messages, and someone asking if I was dead."
Nicholas gestured toward the empty chair. "Sit. Before someone starts another rumor."
He moved to the chair across from him and sat, tiredness catching the edge of his movement. The firelight caught the bruising just beneath his collar — fading now, but still visible.
"You should've rebuilt the security gate years ago," Nicholas said at last, his voice flat.
"I should've done a lot of things. They knew exactly where to strike. Security wasn't just breached — it was bypassed."
"They wanted you to know what they are."
"And now the world knows it too," Alex replied, dry. "Reporters, clients, regulators — they're circling like sharks."
"You think Eric's behind it?"
Alex shakes his head.
"He's smart. But this? This was theatrical. Too public. Too violent."
"You saw the emblem?" Nicholas asked.
Alex nodded once. "Tharosin."
The name was spoken like a curse.
"You ever heard of them?" Nicholas asked, voice low.
"No. But the fire wasn't random."
Nicholas leans forward, voice clipped. "And you're telling me you don't know why?"
"You think I did something to deserve that?"
Nicholas doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he picks up the glass he poured for Alex and downs it himself.
"Let's not pretend we're saints, Alex. Our hands aren't clean. But Tharosin? That's not corporate warfare. That's seems blood sport."
"Public's eating it up," Alex added. "Conspiracy forums. Morning shows."
"They didn't touch the warehouse," he said. "Not yet."
Nicholas tilted his head slightly, the way lawyers do before delivering a blow.
"But they know where to look."
His shoulders tensed beneath his blazer — the kind of tension that stays even when you're sitting. "You think this ties to the audit?"
"I think it ties to timing."
He slid a slim folder across the table, the leather whispering against wood. "You should worry about this more than your villa. The audit started. Eric named Elden Shipping directly."
Alex didn't move to take it.
Nicholas continued. "Do you know what it looks like when your name is tied to a motion like that?"
"It looks like someone wants to make an example out of you."
"Out of us," Nicholas corrected sharply. "They didn't just mention me. They said Elden Shipping and Logistics. That's you, too."
Alex poured himself a drink, ice clinking. "Technically, you're the one signing offshore accounts. I'm just managing the ports and keeping things running."
Nicholas's gaze, steady and cool, lingered on Alex a beat too long to be casual. "Ports don't run on silence."
Alex leaned back. "Then maybe you shouldn't have poked Rowan in public. You practically handed Eric a loaded gun."
Nicholas's jaw ticked — a tiny, traitorous motion beneath an otherwise composed face.
He reached for the glass on the table, more for something to do than thirst, then set it back untouched.
"The moment you let your villa burn with that symbol plastered all over the media, we stopped controlling the narrative."
His voice was low.
"And now?" — a pause, almost reluctant —
"Elden's books are exposed now. If Eric or the audit team dig just a little deeper..."
"How much do they already know?"
Nicholas sipped. "Enough to keep asking questions."
Alex's jaw tightened. He didn't like being caught — even less when someone else did the catching.
"It's all smoke and mirrors. There's nothing concrete."
"You think that'll matter when the audit starts tearing through everything? Eric made sure Elden's books are now on the menu."
Alex shifted forward, elbows on knees — a man trying to lean into control.
"You think Tharosin and Eric are working together?"
He shook his head once. "No. But timing's a funny thing."
Alex finally took the folder and opened it, eyes scanning quickly.
"Eric's smarter than he used to be."
Nicholas sat back. "He's dangerous. Especially when he pretends not to be."
The air thickened. Somewhere in the hall, a grandfather clock chimed once.
"Why now?" Alex asked quietly. "We've been clean for months."
Nicholas's voice dropped. "We were careful. That's not the same."
His fingers drumming once on the leather armrest.
Alex was quiet for a long moment. Scanning.
When the fireplace cracked, he didn't flinch — but his hand drifted instinctively toward the bruise at his side, as if memory burned sharper than the wound.
Then, quietly, "He's clearly not a fool."
"No," Nicholas said. "He never was. We just wanted to believe he'd stay harmless, making pastries."
"And now?"
"Now he's holding a knife. And everyone's pretending it's still a frosting spatula."
"And Rowan?" Alex's tone was edged.
"Still trying to play saint," Nicholas said. "But saints die faster in this family."
"You think he gave the files to Eric?"
"I think we should assume someone did. And clean house before the rot spreads."
Alex gave a tight, humorless smile. "So. What's the plan?"
Nicholas looked out the window, where gulls circled lazily above the harbor.
"Keep calm," he said. "And start covering tracks."
Alex stared at the drink. Then pushed it aside, as if it had grown sour.
Just as Nicholas reached for the folder again, Alex's phone buzzed — once, then again.
The screen lit up.
He glanced at it, expecting some logistics update or another press statement request.
But the number was unfamiliar.
Unregistered. International.
He answered with a clipped, "Yes?"
Silence. Not empty — intentional. A silence that hummed, like someone was holding their breath just to listen.
Then a voice, distorted — mechanical. Not quite human.
"How many fires does it take to bury a girl?"
Alex went still.
The line went dead.
For a moment, his face didn't move — not an inch.
He stared at the screen.
One message appeared immediately after:
"For the girl with the silver bracelet."
– We don't forget.
Nicholas, across from him, didn't even notice the tension that had locked across Alex's jaw like stone.
But his fingers curled slowly around the phone, as if suppressing the tremor that wanted to rise.
Silver bracelet.
He hadn't thought about it in years.
Hadn't dared to.
He remembered it now — small, delicate, engraved with her initials. She wore it every day, even that night, when the sky broke and silence became a weapon.
He told himself for years it wasn't his fault. That it was business. A warning.
But someone remembered.
And they were whispering in the cracks.
Nicholas was still talking. Something about auditors, legal counters, offshore accounts.
Alex wasn't listening.
The past was no longer buried.
It was knocking.
He had thought the fire was about the audit.
A warning. A threat. A message.
But no.
It wasn't about books or balance sheets.
It was about her.
The villa hadn't been torched to expose Elden Shipping.
It had been chosen — because of what happened inside it.
Because of who had once screamed in that house and never been heard again.
His throat dried. A phantom taste of smoke. Not from the fire, but from memory.
He'd buried it. All of it.
But someone hadn't.
Someone had dug her name from the ashes.
And now they were setting fires of their own.
"Alex?"
He blinked. Looked up.
"What?"
Nicholas narrowed his eyes. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Alex's voice was too calm. "Just a headache."
Nicholas tossed the folder back onto the table. "Then take something for it. We don't need more problems."
Alex nodded once, but didn't move.
Didn't say anything at all.
The whiskey sat untouched. The fire snapped quietly behind them.
And in Alex's pocket, the phone buzzed again — once.
No message this time. Just a single image:
A photo of her bracelet.
Unmistakable — bent just slightly out of shape.