The Heir's Midnight Deal

CHAPTER 6: What Dorian Knows

Dorian Chase’s office occupied the thirty-second floor of the Chase Tower, the sharpest needle on the Meridian City skyline. He had designed the space with the intent of watching the Voss tower and reminding himself constantly of what his target was. 

 He was actually obsessed; the Voss tower was literally just 4 blocks away.

He was twenty-two, and he had been staging this collapse for four years.

His father, Edmund, had lost a vital port contract to Maris Voss when Dorian was eighteen. The loss had cost Chase Holdings two hundred million in projected revenue, but the real damage was actually the humiliation.

Edmund had come home that night, eaten his dinner in silence, and gone to bed as if nothing had happened. Dorian had watched his father absorb the defeat with what people called dignity, and he had decided then that it was the most pathetic thing he had ever witnessed.

And since then, he had been building his counter-stroke.

His assistant stepped into the room, holding a tablet close to her chest "The Tribune contact says the records request is submitted. It will generate press within forty-eight hours."

Dorian didn't look up from his pen. "Pull it back."

The assistant blinked, caught off guard completely. "Sir?"

"Pull it back and kill the story." Dorian set his pen down with a sharp clack. "Callan Voss went to the girl this morning. It seems to me like he is expanding. A press hit right now will only make him defensive, and a defensive Callan Voss will make mistakes I can predict. An expanding Callan Voss is more dangerous, but he makes moves I haven't accounted for. I want the latter, so he can think he’s winning."

He stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass, his reflection ghosting over the city below.

"Get me everything on Seren Ashby," he commanded. "Not all that surface-level trash. I want the real history. I want to know who her stepfather is, what he wants, and I want to know it before Callan’s intelligence team finds the same thread."

"And the Commerce Board motion, sir?" she asked slowly.

"You can let that one run. That isn't about winning. That’s just about occupying his attention while I dismantle the Harland board members directly." He replied flatly.

Last night had been a complete failure. He had expected Callan to stumble by arriving at that estate alone or with someone inadequate and watch Maris Voss’s expression freeze into a rejection. He knew the succession laws; Maris didn't bend, not even for a grandson she loved so dearly.

But Callan had walked in with a fucking Crestwood girl. She had been composed, credible, perfect. Where did she come from?

He turned away from the window, his eyes cold. "One more thing, you. The Lacroix account. Transfer the agreed amount to Vivienne and cut all ties. She has served her purpose, and she is now a liability."

"Yes, sir."

"And tell her..." He paused, his gaze drifting to the door. "Tell her nothing. Just simply close it. Women who feel discarded become very interesting to journalists, and I have no desire to be the subject of a feature piece."

His assistant hurried out without being told. Dorian sat back down and opened the digital file on Gerald Dane, a man he had been tracking for three weeks. He had lied to Seren on the phone, he had zero interest in helping her.

He was interested in the document she carried because that was the paper that, if his research held, would destabilize the Crestwood-Dane trust. And the trust held minority shares in companies that sat, like hidden gears, inside the oldest Voss subsidiary.

It was a small, thin thread. But if he pulled it at the right moment, the whole dynasty would unravel.

Vivienne Lacroix received a wire transfer of sixty thousand dollars and a text from an unknown number and a message saying: Thank you. We’re done here.

She stared at the screen until the letters blurred. She didn't call the number back. Instead, she went to her contacts and found the name she hadn't touched in four months. She dialed Callan...?

He answered the phone hesitantly on the third ring. "I wondered if you’d call," he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

"Dorain just paid me off and dropped me," she said, her voice shaking.

"I know that." He replied flatly.

"I need you to understand that...I didn’t know what he was doing at the start. By the time I did, I was already..." She broke off, a ragged sound escaping her throat. "It doesn’t matter. He has a file on your family, Callan. A physical file...I-I saw it in his apartment twice. I don’t know what’s inside, but it’s thick, and he keeps it locked."

Callan was silent for a moment, then asked. "Why tell me this?"

"Because he treated me like a tool." Her voice grew firmer, colder. "I made a choice, and I’m not asking you to forgive me. But I am not going to be his instrument after the fact."

"Send me everything you remember about that apartment," Callan said, his tone shifting into business. "The layout, the security, who comes and goes. Don’t contact him. Don't even let him think you’ve called me."

"All right. I will." She said shakily.

"Vivienne?" he paused. "Get out of the city and stay somewhere you've never mentioned to him."

She hung up, leaving the apartment feeling suddenly vast and empty. She sat on the edge of her bed for a long time, listening to the muffled sounds of the city, before she finally stood up and packed a bag. She didn't look back at the room that had been her cage for months. She just simply...left.