"Call your director," I said, my voice dropping to a tone that left no room for negotiation. "Now."
Thorne opened his mouth to deliver another insult, but before he could speak, the glass doors behind him slid open with a sharp hiss.
A woman in a sharp, charcoal-grey pantsuit splayed out onto the portico, her face pale and her breathing shallow.
It was Sarah Jenkins, the executive director of the foundation, whom Eleanor and I had personally hired three years ago.
She took one look at our disheveled, mud-soaked figures, and her eyes went wide with absolute horror.
"Wait!" she gasped, her voice cracking as she rushed past the stunned manager. "Mr. and Mrs. Carter?"
Thorne froze, the smug grin dying on his lips as the color drained from his face, leaving him looking as white as the marble beneath our feet.
The silence on the portico was deafening, broken only by the steady drum of rain hitting the glass canopy above us.
Sarah Jenkins threw herself forward, her hands hovering over Eleanor’s muddy shoulders as if she were afraid to touch her, her eyes darting between the blood on Eleanor’s temple and my torn, dirt-caked shirt.
"Oh my God," Sarah whispered, her voice shaking with genuine panic. "What happened to you? We heard there was an accident on the highway, but we had no idea—"
"We were run off the road, Sarah," I said quietly, my eyes never leaving Marcus Thorne.
The young manager stood paralyzed, his arms hanging limp at his sides, his mouth slightly open as the reality of his mistake crashed down on him.
He had just physically barred, insulted, and threatened the very billionaires whose name was engraved on the bronze plaque by the entrance—the sole benefactors of the entire estate.
"Mr. Carter... I... I didn't realize," Thorne stammered, his voice suddenly high and reedy, a pathetic contrast to his previous arrogance. "The dress code... you didn't have identification, and I was only trying to protect the integrity of the—"
"Be quiet, Marcus," Sarah snapped, turning on him with a fury that made him flinch. "You are finished here. Pack your things and leave this property immediately. If I see your face in this building in the next five minutes, I will have security throw you out."
"Wait," I said, raising a hand.
The pain in my ribs flared as I moved, but I forced myself to stand straight.
"Don't fire him just yet, Sarah. We have a few questions for Mr. Thorne first."
I stepped closer to the trembling manager, ignoring the wet mud that dripped from my trousers onto his polished leather shoes.
"That's a very handsome watch, Marcus," I said softly, pointing to the green-faced timepiece on his wrist. "A company anniversary gift, isn't it? Only ten people in the world received one of those."
Thorne instinctively pulled his sleeve down, his eyes darting nervously toward his phone on the podium.
"It... it was a gift, sir. From a friend."
"A friend who sits on my board of directors, perhaps?" I asked, my voice deadly calm. "And who is 'S', Marcus? The person who just texted you asking if we were 'handled'?"
Thorne’s face went from pale to a sickly shade of grey.
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, but before he could answer, his phone buzzed again on the podium.
I reached past him, my muddy hand leaving a dark smear on the wooden stand, and picked up the device.
The screen showed another message from 'S': *Confirm they are not coming. Richard is about to call the vote.*
Richard.
Richard Sterling, the Chief Financial Officer of Carter Enterprises and my late son's former business partner.
My stomach turned to ice as the pieces of the puzzle began to lock into place.