Chapter 5 - The Night of the Dutch Baron
By 6:00 PM on Monday, the Greenwich mansion was unrecognizable.
The heavy velvet curtains in the grand dining hall had been pulled back, revealing the sweeping views of the rain-slicked lawns illuminated by warm garden lights. The massive crystal chandelier, dusted to a sparkling shine by Sanders and Camila, cast a golden glow over the long mahogany table, which was dressed in crisp white linen, antique sterling silver, and fresh white orchids.
In the kitchen, the air was filled with rich, intoxicating scents—roast rack of lamb seasoned with rosemary and garlic, crushed buttered fingerling potatoes, and a rich red wine reduction that had been simmering on the stove for four hours.
Camila wore a simple, elegant dark navy dress that Sanders had purchased for her from a boutique in town. Her hair was swept up in a neat, graceful chignon. Sofia was tucked away in the freshly renovated garden cottage under the care of a trusted senior housekeeper Sanders had known for twenty years.
At 6:45 PM, a sleek black Maybach pulled up the gravel driveway.
Baron Henri Van Houten stepped out into the rain, shielded by an umbrella held by his driver. He was seventy years old, tall, erect, with thick white hair and sharp blue eyes behind silver-rimmed spectacles. He wore a impeccably tailored dark wool coat.
Walking right beside him, looking smug and triumphant, was Vance Hargrove.
Julian stood at the top of the stone steps, wearing a midnight-blue tuxedo that fit his broad frame perfectly. His hair was trimmed, his posture imposing, and his eyes carried an unmistakable aura of command.
Vance’s smile faltered the moment he saw his brother. He had expected to find a disheveled, unraveled Julian cowering in a dark study. Instead, he was looking at the master of Hargrove Industries in his full glory.
"Henri," Julian said, stepping down to shake the older man's hand with a firm, solid grip. "Welcome back to Greenwich."
"Julian," Baron Van Houten replied, his deep voice carrying a heavy Dutch accent as he studied Julian’s face with keen interest. "It has been too long. Your brother informed me that you were... unavailable for public life."
"My brother exaggerates my retreat to cover his own impatience," Julian replied smoothly, casting a cool glance at Vance. "Please, come inside out of the cold."
As they entered the grand foyer, Henri looked around. The house smelled of fresh cedar, roast meats, and expensive wine. There was no dust, no gloom, no madness—only the quiet, refined elegance of a great American estate.
They took their seats in the grand dining room. Vance sat across from Henri, looking visibly fidgety as Camila entered, carrying the first course—a delicate wild mushroom tartlet paired with a vintage 2012 champagne.
Vance sneered as Camila poured the wine. "Henri, this is the housekeeper I mentioned in my report. Julian has allowed her and her child to occupy the primary residence—"
"Vance," Baron Van Houten interrupted sharply, setting his champagne glass down. "When I visit a man's home, I do not critique his household staff. I judge his hospitality, his mind, and his character."
The Baron took a bite of the mushroom tartlet. His sharp blue eyes widened slightly. "Magnificent. Who prepared this?"
"My head of household, Camila Torres," Julian said, looking up at Camila with a warm, steady gaze. "She has brought life back to this house, Henri. Something I neglected for far too long."
Vance bit his lip, his face flushing with irritation. "Julian, we are here to discuss the board vote on Tuesday! The European proxy cannot support an executive who has spent five years ignoring global logistics reports!"
"I haven't ignored a single report, Vance," Julian said quietly. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a leather-bound folder, sliding it across the white linen table toward Henri. "In fact, while you were spending company capital bribing my staff and filing SEC complaints, I finalized the acquisition of the Antwerp deep-water terminal rights."
Henri Van Houten froze, his fork hovering in mid-air. "The Antwerp terminal? The Belgian government refused to lease those docks to anyone for three years!"
"They refused to lease them to corporate brokers," Julian corrected smoothly. "I negotiated directly with the port authority last Friday. The contracts are signed. Hargrove Logistics now controls sixty percent of the northern European shipping lane."
Henri opened the folder, scanning the legal signatures and government stamps. A slow, profound smile spread across the old Dutchman's face.
"Mon Dieu," Henri whispered, looking up at Julian with deep respect. "You didn't lose your mind, Julian. You were hunting."
Vance went completely white. "Henri, wait—this is a trick—he's emotionally unstable—"
"Shut your mouth, Vance," Henri barked, slamming his hand onto the table. "You brought me across the Atlantic telling me your brother was a broken recluse unfit to lead. Instead, I find him expanding our empire into Antwerp while hosting me with exquisite dignity."
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The Baron looked at Julian, raising his glass of red wine. "The Van Houten voting proxy stays with you, Julian. Tomorrow, on Tuesday, and for as long as you choose to lead."
Julian raised his glass, his eyes briefly meeting Camila’s as she stood near the sideboard. "To loyalty, Henri. And to home."
