Chapter 2 - The Snake at the Breakfast Table
By eight o'clock the following morning, the morning sun had transformed the sprawling Voss estate into a magnificent display of manicured lawns, white stone fountains, and ancient oak trees. But inside the formal dining room, the atmosphere was suffocatingly cold.
Thea sat at the long mahogany table wearing a simple navy blue dress, her dark hair pulled back into a neat bun. Beside her sat Lachlan, wearing his dark glasses once again, holding his coffee cup with tailored, practiced hesitation—a masterclass in playing the blind heir.
Sitting across from them was Richard Voss, Lachlan's uncle—a man in his late fifties with slicked-back gray hair, a sharp nose, and eyes that moved with the restless energy of a predator.
"You look radiant, my dear," Richard said, smiling warmly at Thea as he spread orange marmalade onto his toast. "Though I must admit, I was surprised when my mother mentioned you were only nineteen. Such a heavy responsibility for a young girl—caring for a man with... Lachlan's unique limitations."
Thea set her teacup down on the saucer with a soft clink. "Lachlan's limitations are far less burdensome than people think, Mr. Voss. He is remarkably observant."
Richard chuckled dryly. "Observant with his ears, perhaps. But in the world of global logistics, my dear, ears don't read financial ledgers."
Richard signaled to his assistant, who immediately placed a thick, leather-bound document in front of Lachlan, along with an ink pad for his thumbprint.
"This is the routine update to the board proxy, Lachlan," Richard said, his tone dripping with fake familial warmth. "It simply extends my authority to sign off on the new port acquisitions in Singapore while you enjoy your honeymoon."
Lachlan did not move. He tilted his head slightly toward the sound of Richard's voice. "Have the legal teams reviewed Clause 12, Richard?"
"Of course, my boy! Standard terms. Exactly like the ones you signed last year," Richard replied without blinking.
Lachlan turned his dark glasses toward Thea. "Thea, please read Clause 12 aloud for me. My eyes are a bit... tired today."
Richard’s warm smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "Lachlan, really, there's no need to bore your young bride with corporate jargon—"
"Read it, Thea," Lachlan commanded smoothly, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Thea opened the heavy leather binder, her eyes scanning the dense legal text on page fourteen. Thanks to the briefing Lachlan had given her at 2:00 a.m. in his study, she knew exactly what she was looking for.
"Clause 12," Thea read clearly, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "'In the event of physical incapacity or extended marital sabbatical, the Trustee—Richard Voss—is granted irrevocable authority to liquidate up to forty-nine percent of primary corporate equity without prior board notification.'"
Silence descended upon the dining room like a falling ax.
Richard’s face hardened. "It’s standard asset liquidity protection, Thea. You don't understand corporate law."
"I understand what 'liquidate forty-nine percent' means, Mr. Voss," Thea replied, holding his glare with unyielding confidence. "It means you can sell nearly half of Lachlan's company to an outside party without his permission."
Lachlan slowly set his coffee cup down. "Is that true, Uncle Richard?"
Richard let out a forced, irritated laugh. "Lachlan, the girl is misinterpreting the phrasing! She's a nineteen-year-old with no business education! Hand me the document, I’ll mark the correct section—"
Richard reached across the table to snatch the binder, but Lachlan’s hand shot out with terrifying, precise speed, pinning Richard’s wrist down onto the mahogany wood with an iron grip.
Richard gasped in pain, his eyes widening in pure horror as he looked at Lachlan's hand—a hand that had moved with absolute visual precision, targeting his wrist without a single millisecond of hesitation.
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Lachlan slowly removed his dark glasses with his free hand, uncovering his striking, sharp gray-blue eyes. He stared directly into Richard’s terrified face.
"Your thumbprint is on the Seattle maintenance logs from three years ago, Richard," Lachlan whispered, his voice dangerously low. "And if you ever reach across my breakfast table again, I won't just take your proxy. I'll take your freedom."
