Page 66

"Which is exactly why I have compiled three alternative luxury estates for your review if you don’t have the time to wait," Victoria pushed, the blood rushed in her ears, drowning out the ambient noise as she pulled up a secondary file. "Two in Surrey, one in Berkshire. They are turnkey ready, with superior acreage and zero historical preservation hurdles. We could pivot the capital—"

Vance’s face darkened on the spot. The casual arrogance dissolved, hardened into an icy glare. "Pivot?"

"The Cotswolds estate presents certain operational—"

"I don't care about operational hurdles, Victoria," Vance snapped, leaning into the camera. "My mandate was the Cotswolds. You and Harrison have had nearly a year to secure a flagship property in that exact region. If you are telling me you can't deliver the deed and the demo permits, I am taking my capital to Davidson Capitals by the end of the day."

Harrison unmuted his microphone with a sharp click. His eyes on the screen were like a wall of ice.

"Richard, my sincerest apologies," Harrison intervened, his voice radiating a commanding warmth that Victoria knew was fabricated. "Victoria has been managing the estate on-site, and I am afraid the jet lag and the isolation of the English countryside have clouded her judgment this morning. She misspoke. We are not pivoting, and we are not waiting until September. The Cotswolds property is yours, and the project will proceed exactly as planned. Please, excuse her fatigue."

Vance stared at Harrison for a long moment before giving a curt nod. "See that it does. I want the intent documents ready to sign by early September, but I want the preliminary drafts on my desk this Friday. Have a good week, Harrison. Victoria."

Vance’s tile disappeared from the grid with a quiet chime.

The second they were alone, the polite polish vanished from Harrison’s face. He leaned forward, fixing Victoria with an unblinking stare.

"What the hell was that?" Harrison hissed, his voice lethal in the quiet of the study.

Victoria gripped the edge of the desk. "Harrison, the margins on the Surrey properties—"

"Shut up," Harrison ordered. "You just tried to jeopardize an eight-figure account to play savior to a bed and breakfast. I let you indulge this English sabbatical because you swore you could handle it. But you have lost your nerve, Victoria."

"I have not lost my nerve," Victoria argued, her voice tight. "I am assessing the risk."

"You are throwing away your career," Harrison shot back. "Vance wants the drafts on Friday. And you are done playing innkeeper. You will fly back to New York tomorrow morning, and from there, you will join the Chicago merger team immediately. Prove to me that you are still the partner I trained."

Victoria’s chest tightened painfully. "Harrison, the summer season is peaking, I cannot just abandon—"

"If you fail to deliver this signed document by Friday," Harrison interrupted, his voice dead and flat, "you will not only be terminated from this firm, but I will personally ensure the board votes against your equity payout. You will lose your seat, your shares, and your career. Do I make myself clear?"

The threat hung in the air, absolute and ruinous. If she pushed back now, Harrison would strip her of her equity, turn the entire board against her, and bury her career overnight. She would lose twenty years of relentless sacrifice, forfeit her financial independence, and end up with nothing—and without the firm's capital backing, the estate would collapse anyway under probate debts and deferred maintenance, dragging Emma down with it.

Victoria swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She forced her spine to straighten, burying the panic under a flawless mask.

"Crystal clear," Victoria lied easily. "I apologize, Harrison. The fatigue was a miscalculation on my part. The documents will be ready by Friday."

The call ended. The screen went black.

Victoria dropped her head into her hands. The silence of the study was suffocating. She had exactly four days to prepare the documents that would sign Emma’s home away.

Victoria shut her laptop. The quiet click echoed like a gunshot in the empty study. She sat in silence for a long moment, pressing her palms against the cool mahogany of the desk until the shaking in her hands stopped.

Once she got a hold of herself, she stood up, unlocked the door, and walked downstairs.

The murmur of voices drifted from the reception area. Victoria slowed her steps as she reached the bottom of the staircase, lingering near the archway. Emma was behind the front desk, just finishing checking in an older couple who had arrived late from the afternoon train. She was handing over a brass key, offering her trademark warm, effortless smile.

"Room two is right at the top of the stairs on your left," Emma was saying, her voice bright and welcoming. "Breakfast is between seven thirty and ten, but if you need an extra pot of tea before then, just ring the bell."

The couple thanked her warmly, gathering their weekend bags before heading up the staircase. As they passed Victoria with polite nods, Emma let out a quiet exhale and reached for the leather guestbook, logging their arrival with quick strokes of her pen.

She looked up, noticing Victoria standing by the archway. Her face softened instantly, the professional customer-service expression melting into that private warmth that made Victoria's chest ache with vicious guilt.

"Hey," Emma said, keeping the pen in her hand and resting her elbows on the counter. "I thought you were going to be trapped in that video call until dinner. Everything alright?"

Victoria stopped near the desk, deliberately keeping the polished wooden counter between them. If she stepped around it, if she let herself touch Emma, whatever composure she was clinging to would shatter on the spot.

"I have to fly back to the States," Victoria said. "Tomorrow morning. New York first, then Chicago."