Self-made developer Julian Garrison seals an $85 million merger by acquiring a cursed marble statue, only to discover his ruthless partner encased his abandoned ex-lover alive within the stone.
Sleep was a luxury I couldn’t afford. The heartbeat from the marble felt like a drum against my own chest, echoing in the quiet estate. I spent the rest of the night pacing the library, the statue always in my sight.
By dawn, my mind was a whirlwind of frantic questions. How was this possible? How could Silas have done this? Who was involved?
I needed answers, and only one person could trace the paper trail, however obscured it might be: Nora Finch, my executive assistant. She was meticulous, trustworthy, and utterly unsuspecting.
I called her. Her voice on the other end was bright, efficient, a stark contrast to the surreal horror unfolding around me.
“Mr. Garrison,” she chirped. “Everything alright? You usually call at a more civilized hour.”
“Nora,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, “I need you at the estate. Immediately. Bring every document related to the acquisition and transport of the ‘Holloway Legacy’ statue.”
There was a moment of silence. “The—the new merger centerpiece? But I thought all that paperwork was finalized yesterday.”
“Just come,” I insisted. “It’s urgent. Don’t tell anyone.”
Her hesitation was palpable. “Mr. Holloway specifically instructed me not to bother you about this particular acquisition anymore. Said it was sensitive.”
My jaw tightened. Silas, always one step ahead. “Ignore him. This comes directly from me. It’s imperative.”
“Alright, Mr. Garrison,” she said, her voice laced with worry. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
An hour later, Nora’s silver sedan crunched on the gravel outside. She burst into the library, clutching a leather briefcase, her usually impeccable blonde hair slightly disheveled. Her face was pale, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion.
“Mr. Garrison, what on earth is going on?” she asked, her gaze sweeping over the candlelit room, finally landing on the marble statue in the center. She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
“I need you to tell me everything about this statue’s transport,” I said, cutting straight to it. “Every detail, no matter how small or strange.”
She swallowed hard, her eyes darting between me and the serene, white figure.
“Mr. Holloway made me handle it personally,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Which was odd, because he usually delegates fine art logistics to the specialist firm.”
“Go on,” I urged.
“He insisted on a specific transport method,” she continued, her brow furrowing. “A cryogenic transport crate. He said it was to ‘preserve the delicate nature of the marble in transit.’ But I’ve never heard of marble needing… freezing.”
Cryogenic. My blood ran cold. That wasn’t to preserve marble. That was to preserve organic matter. A living body.
“Did you see inside the crate?” I asked, my voice tight.
She shook her head vigorously. “No! He was very strict. It was sealed. He gave me a special manifest, stamped with a ‘top-secret’ clearance. I was just the courier. I picked it up from a private hangar and delivered it directly to your penthouse. I swear, I had no idea what was inside, other than what the manifest said: ‘Holloway Legacy Art Piece, Fragile, Cryo-preservation required’.”
Her hands trembled as she clutched the briefcase tighter. “He had a man watching me the entire time, Mr. Garrison. A hulking, silent man. And he made me sign a non-disclosure agreement with a penalty clause of 50,000 dollars if I ever spoke about the ‘sensitive cargo’.”
Fifty thousand dollars. That was a direct financial threat, keeping her silent and unwitting. Nora, innocent and terrified, had been used as a pawn. Silas had known exactly what he was doing, leveraging her obedience and fear.
“Nora,” I said, my voice softening, “you didn’t do anything wrong. You were manipulated.”
She looked at the statue again, her eyes fixed on the serene face. “It’s… it’s so lifelike. Almost too lifelike.” She shuddered.
The fear on her face was genuine. She had unknowingly transported Elena’s living prison. This wasn’t just Silas’s secret anymore. It was mine, and now, by extension, Nora’s. The web of deceit was growing, and Silas was at its center, pulling every string.
“Thank you, Nora,” I said, standing. “You can go. And please, don’t tell anyone about this conversation.”
She nodded, backing slowly out of the library, her eyes still fixed on the statue. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone once more with the terrible truth. Cryogenic transport. Silas was not just cruel, he was methodical, ancient, and utterly ruthless.
This wasn’t just a business rival. This was something far darker.
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