Chapter 22 - A Fortress in the Fog
By November, a heavy gray fog had settled over the Thames Valley, echoing the tension surrounding our sanctuary. Victoria Sterling was far more dangerous than Richard Vance because she operated without ego; her sole currency was systematic destruction.
Injunctions began arriving like clockwork. First, a sudden freeze on our joint accounts under the pretext of an international anti-money-laundering review triggered by anonymous filings in Luxembourg. Next, a series of zoning disputes filed against our cottage's land title, claiming historical right-of-way over our orchard.
"They're trying to suffocate us, piece by piece," Thomas remarked during a late-night conference call with Eleanor Thorne.
"It’s a classic attrition strategy," Eleanor agreed through the speakerphone. "Victoria knows you have the moral high ground, Thomas. She wants to make staying in Oxfordshire so legalistic, expensive, and stressful that you break from the inside."
Miles walked into the kitchen carrying his wooden horse, his eyes sleep-heavy. "Mommy, why is the light always on in Daddy's room?"
I bent down, picking him up and hugging his warm, pajama-clad body tightly against my chest. "Daddy and I are just planning a big summer project for the orchard, sweetheart. Everything is okay."
"Is Uncle Arthur coming back?" he asked innocently.
"Yes, baby. Uncle Arthur is coming tomorrow," I reassured him, kissing his forehead.
May you like
When I laid Miles back down, Thomas met me in the hallway. The exhaustion was visible in the lines around his eyes, but his gaze remained fierce, unwavering, and intensely protective.
"We aren't playing defense this time, Claire," Thomas said quietly, taking my hands. "Victoria Sterling built her wealth on corporate raiding and illegal short-selling. She thinks we are sitting ducks out here in the countryside. It's time to show her what happens when you corner people who have nothing left to fear."
