Chapter 2 - The Top Floor
Marin gasped as her feet left the ground.
She clutched her dirty cleaning cloth against her chest, terrified of staining his expensive coat.
"Please, put me down, Mr. Vance," she pleaded.
"I can walk."
"You were barely crawling," Dorian corrected smoothly.
He carried her toward the private elevator reserved exclusively for executive use.
Titan trotted obediently at his master's side, occasionally looking up to ensure the woman was safe.
The doors slid open, and Dorian carried her inside, pressing the button for the penthouse level.
"I am going to ruin your clothes," Marin protested, feeling the grime of her shift pressing against his pristine fabric.
"I can buy new clothes," Dorian replied without looking down.
"I cannot buy you a new leg if you shatter those bones."
The elevator doors opened to a sprawling, dimly lit office featuring floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Chicago skyline.
Dorian bypassed his massive walnut desk and carried her to a plush leather sofa in the corner.
He set her down carefully, making sure her braced leg was elevated.
He walked over to a dark mahogany cabinet and retrieved a sophisticated medical kit.
"My personal physician will be here in twenty minutes," Dorian announced.
Marin’s eyes widened in sheer panic.
"No, please, I can't afford a private doctor," she said frantically.
"I barely had enough to cover rent this month."
Dorian knelt in front of her, unzipping the medical bag.
"You do not pay for anything in my building," he said firmly.
He reached for her leg, his large hands carefully loosening the straps of her worn medical brace.
As she shifted nervously on the sofa, a silver chain slipped out from beneath her gray uniform.
A heavy, cracked wristwatch dangled from the end of it, clinking softly against the leather cushions.
Dorian froze.
His eyes locked onto the broken watch.
He recognized the custom engraving on the steel casing instantly.
It was a very specific watch given to the senior accountants at Vance Holdings five years ago.
Dorian looked up, his expression hardening into something unreadable and intense.
"Where did you get that watch?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low.
Marin instinctively reached for it, her fingers wrapping protectively around the cracked glass.
"It belonged to my husband," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"He died almost two years ago."
Dorian’s mind raced, connecting a dozen invisible dots in a matter of seconds.
"What was your husband's name?" Dorian asked.
"Daniel," she answered softly.
"Daniel Caldwell."
The air in the room suddenly grew incredibly heavy.
Daniel Caldwell was the junior auditor who had supposedly died in a random car accident twenty-two months ago.
He was also the only man who had access to the ledgers Garrett Boyd had just been caught falsifying.
Dorian looked at the fragile, terrified widow sitting on his couch.
She had no idea that her husband hadn't died in an accident.
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She had no idea that Daniel had been murdered for finding a dead man's secret.
And she had no idea that the people who killed him were still inside Dorian's organization.
