My blood ran cold at Marcus’s threat. He knew exactly what to target to hurt me most. But I refused to let him win through destruction. My gaze met Julian’s, and we both knew what had to be done.
“Arthur,” I said, my voice firm despite the tremor in my hands. “We need to go to the conservatory. Now. And bring the police if he resists.”
Mr. Pendelton, his face grim, immediately called for estate security and made a hurried phone call, relaying Marcus’s threat.
We rushed out of the office, down the elegant hallways, and out into the biting November air. The conservatory, a majestic glass structure, loomed ahead, usually a beacon of warmth and life. As we got closer, a shrill, piercing alarm began to blare from within the glasshouse. The temperature warnings.
We burst through the conservatory doors. The air inside was already noticeably colder. Marcus stood by the main control panel, his hand poised over a large red button, a triumphant sneer on his face. He had already initiated the shutdown.
“Too late,” he snarled, his eyes glinting. “It’s all over, Clara.”
But before he could press the final kill switch, a figure darted in front of him. It was Chloe.
She stood between Marcus and the control panel, her small phone held high, its camera light blinking.
“Go ahead, Marcus,” Chloe said, her voice steady and sharp. “Press it. My phone is actively recording everything. This is for the estate’s insurance board. And for the Boston Police Department.”
Marcus froze, his hand hovering inches from the button. His face twisted with rage, but he hesitated, caught by the public exposure.
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