Chapter 4 - Cracks in the Porcelain
In the sunlit conservatory, surrounded by exotic orchids and marble statues, Vivien Cole sat on a velvet settee, typing furiously on her tablet.
She looked up as Nathaniel walked in, instantly replacing her sharp expression with one of tender, emotional exhaustion.
"Darling," she said, setting the tablet aside and reaching out her hands. "I just spoke with the hospital director. He said your mother’s vitals are stable. I’ve been praying all morning."
Nathaniel didn't take her hands. He stood in front of her, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze searching her face with an intensity that made her shift uncomfortably.
"I spoke with Harrison," Nathaniel said calmly.
Vivien’s smile faltered for a microsecond before locking back into place. "Oh? About the wedding preparations? I know we might need to postpone given what happened to Margaret—"
"About the prenuptial draft," Nathaniel interrupted. "The one where you requested emergency power of attorney over the charitable trust if my mother became incapacitated."
Vivien let out a soft, airy laugh, shaking her head as if amused by a foolish misunderstanding. "Nathaniel, that was just standard legal protection suggested by my family's advisors. Given your mother’s age, we thought—"
"My mother is sixty-four," Nathaniel said cold, hard truth ringing in every word. "She ran a marathon two years ago. She didn't need a contingency plan for incapacitation until she walked up those stairs with you yesterday."
Vivien stood up slowly, her slender frame stiffening under her cream cashmere sweater. The delicate, vulnerable act was beginning to wear thin.
"Are you accusing me of something, Nathaniel?" she asked, her voice dropping its soft sweetness. "I have given you three years of my life! I stood by you when your company faced the SEC audits! I have treated this house, and your impossible mother, with nothing but respect!"
"My mother said she didn't fall, Vivien," Nathaniel stepped closer, his voice dropping to an authoritative whisper. "She said it twice. She looked me in the eye and told me someone made sure she went down those steps."
Vivien’s cheeks flushed pink. "She was confused! She was on morphine! Are you really taking the ramblings of a traumatized old woman over the word of the woman you’re going to marry?!"
"I haven't decided who I'm going to marry yet," Nathaniel said flatly.
The words hung in the warm air of the conservatory like an executioner’s axe.
Vivien stared at him, her chest rising and falling heavily. For the first time since she had walked into the Whitmore estate, real fear flickered behind her blue eyes. She realized she was losing her grip on the ultimate prize—the Whitmore fortune.
"I need to check on the house staff," Nathaniel said coldly, turning his back on her. "Make sure everyone understands that nothing from yesterday goes unexamined."
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As Nathaniel walked out of the room, Vivien stood amongst the orchids, her fingernails digging so hard into her palms that she nearly drew blood. She pulled out her encrypted phone and dialed a private number.
"We have a problem," Vivien whispered into the receiver. "Nathaniel is suspecting something. Find out if anyone else was in that hallway yesterday afternoon. Anyone."
