“Absolute, unwavering loyalty,” she declared.
“If you speak against my position, you will lose everything you have ever worked for.”
“If you decide to work for my brother instead, I will make sure you are blacklisted and can never step foot inside this company again.”
“That sounds much more like a dark threat than an employment contract.”
“It is both, Blake.”
He agreed to her terms, knowing he had no other viable options.
During the following weeks, he traded his standard cleaning uniform for tailored suits that Darlene had custom fitted to his measurements.
He learned to recognize exactly when she needed to sit down, when the sharp pain was stealing her breath away, and when a high stakes meeting should be brought to a quick end without raising any suspicion.
He also discovered that Preston smiled too much in front of the press cameras but cruelly humiliated her sister when no one else was within earshot.
“Dad only gave you that chair out of pity, not because you were better than me,” Preston taunted her one afternoon in the lounge.
Darlene pretended not to hear him, but Blake saw her hands trembling violently under the table.
One night, as he was leaving the underground parking garage, Preston intercepted Blake near his car.
“A rather curious rise to power,” Preston remarked, mockingly adjusting his gold cufflinks.
“From cleaning bathroom toilets to taking care of my dear sister.”
Blake continued walking toward his vehicle, ignoring the provocation.
“I have absolutely nothing to say to you, sir.”
Preston smiled thinly and pulled a small blue inhaler out of his coat pocket, identical to the one Abigail used.
“Girls with asthma should really avoid sudden, traumatic frights.”
“Especially when they leave school without their father watching over them.”
Blake lunged at him, but two massive bodyguards stepped out from the shadows to intervene.
Preston calmly tucked the inhaler away with a smug expression.
“Convince her to resign before Friday’s gala, or your daughter might discover that even taking a breath has a very steep price.”
That same night, Blake raced to find Abigail at Mrs. Clark’s house, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He found her safe and fast asleep, but pinned to the front door was a recently taken photograph.
It showed Abigail leaving her school, with a bright red circle drawn around her face.
On the back of the picture, there was only one chilling sentence written in ink.
“At the upcoming gala, Darlene will finally fall in front of everyone.”
Blake looked at the photo and finally understood that the accident months ago had never been an accident at all.
PART 3
Blake photographed the threat and called Darlene from the hallway, far away from Abigail.
He expected to hear a cold, corporate command, but instead, for several long seconds, he only heard her ragged, painful breathing.
“I will resign tomorrow morning,” she whispered eventually.
“Your daughter will not pay for my family’s twisted war.”
Blake looked at Abigail, still sound asleep at Mrs. Clark’s house.
“If you resign now, Preston will learn that threatening a little girl actually works for him.”
“Then he will just do the same thing to anyone else who stands in his way.”
“I did not hire you to sacrifice her life for mine,” Darlene said firmly.
“And I did not accept this job to help a coward take over your rightful company,” Blake replied.
The next morning, Abigail and Mrs. Clark were moved to a secure safe house.
Darlene arrived at the location, still dressed in her sharp office attire, though she walked with an odd, stiff gait.
“Are you my dad’s boss?” Abigail asked, looking up at her curiously.
“That is what the organizational chart says,” Darlene replied with a soft smile.
“Then please do not make him work so hard, he often falls asleep sitting right in his chair.”
Darlene let out a genuine, short laugh.
Abigail showed her a drawing where Blake appeared wearing a superhero cape and holding a giant inhaler.
“He fixes absolutely everything,” the girl insisted.
Darlene gazed at the page for a long time.
“He does not fix everything, but this time we are going to try to do it together.”
The inhaler Preston had shown was the same brand prescribed by Abigail’s private clinic.
Someone had clearly consulted her private medical file.
Among the very few people with access to such records was Mason, the assistant who coordinated Darlene’s travel routes, appointments, and vehicles.
“Mason knew exactly which road I would take the night of the accident,” Darlene murmured.
