Chapter 2 - The Lion’s Den
The back seat of the armored black luxury sedan was silent, smelling of expensive leather and rich tobacco. Della sat pressed against the door, her faded canvas jacket and work boots looking absurdly out of place against the pristine, hand-stitched interior.
Beside her sat Rodrick Vance.
Up close, he was even more intimidating than the rumors suggested. His jaw looked as though it had been carved from granite, and a faint, pale scar ran from the corner of his left eye down to his cheekbone—a souvenir of a life lived in the shadows. He didn't look at her immediately. He was reading a file, his long, elegant fingers turning the pages with deliberate care.
"Your husband was Caleb Marsh," Rodrick said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated through the small space of the car.
Della stiffened. "Yes."
"He died because BrightLine Power refused to replace the rusty securing bolts on the West Side scaffolding project," Rodrick continued, closing the folder and turning his sharp gray eyes onto her. "The company paid a fifty-thousand-dollar fine to the city, gave you a twenty-thousand-dollar settlement, and sealed the records. Am I correct?"
Della felt a familiar, bitter anger rise in her chest. "Why are you looking into my life, Mr. Vance? If this is about your grandmother, I didn't save her for a reward. I saved her because she was a human being suffocating in a burning car."
"My grandmother is eighty-two years old, Mrs. Marsh," Rodrick said, his gaze unwavering. "She is the only person in this world who remembers me before I became... what I am. To the city of Halloway, she is the widow of the founder of the Vance Syndicate. To me, she is everything. And today, a hundred people watched her drown in her own blood, yet only a broke widow with a suspended license and a hungry child had the courage to break the glass."
He leaned closer, his scent—something like cedarwood, rain, and cold iron—enveloping her.
"I do not owe people, Della. It is a very dangerous thing for a Vance to be in debt. Especially a debt of life."
"I don't want your money," Della said, though her fingers clutched the envelope in her pocket tightly. "The ten thousand... I'll pay it back. I just need a job. I need my suspension lifted."
Rodrick let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Gerald Ashford is a coward who answers to shareholders who live in New York. He will not lift your suspension, Della. In fact, he has already drafted your termination papers. They will be delivered to your door tomorrow morning."
Della’s heart sank. The reality of her situation pressed down on her chest like a physical weight. "Then why am I here? To be mocked?"
"No," Rodrick said softly. He reached out, his hand hovering over hers for a fraction of a second before he drew it back, respecting her space. "You are here because I am going to offer you a deal. I own forty percent of BrightLine’s parent company through various holding firms. By next Friday, I will own fifty-one percent. I am going to fire Gerald Ashford, and I am going to restructure the safety division."
He looked at her, his gray eyes locking onto hers with a intensity that made her breath hitch.
"I want you to run it, Della. I want you to be the chief safety inspector for the entire district. You will have the power to shut down any site, fire any contractor who cuts corners, and you will answer only to me."
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Della stared at him, dumbfounded. "I... I’m an apprentice. I don't have an engineering degree."
"You have something far more valuable," Rodrick said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate whisper. "You have a conscience. In my line of work, that is a rare and lethal weapon. Do we have a deal, Mrs. Marsh?"
