Chapter 18: The Forbidden Desk

First a whisper, the storm started. The type that slithered down the horizon sinister and languid, as though nature herself had stopped to listen to the secrets tucked inside Beaumont Manor. Scarlet stood in the corridor slightly east of the west corridor, where Tucker's private office loomed at the end like a forbidden temple.

Darker than the rest of the house's woodwork, the double mahogany doors smelled like aged cedar and showed the faint gloss from polish. Nobody entered there except called upon specifically. Not the cleaners for the house. Not even the butler is mentioned. The regulations had been murmured among the housekeepers like instructions from a silent god.

She ought to have gone around backwards. Should have turned aside. But the moment she saw that woman once more, grinning in blurry pixels next to Tucker, the moment she had opened the tabloid Gabrielle left broken inside her. a resolve. a barrier. A part of her that had embraced silence instead of responses.

There is none anymore. Her hand shivered as the doorknob felt colder than it ought to have. First she pushed her ear against the wood. Not at all Not footfall. no voices. The antique grandfather clock down the hall only softly ticks. She rotated the handle. It creaked the least of anything. She dropped inside and softly closed the door behind her. The office sucked her into silence. From the tall brass lamp in the desk's corner, warm light spilled creating shadows along the rich walnut furniture's borders. Personal and thick Tucker's aroma enveloped her, leather, paper, and subtle cologne curled around. Familiar. Haunted. Bookshelves, each one orderly arranged, stretched toward the ceiling along the walls. book shelves for laws. Business volume. Books on architecture, psychology, war, economics. Even unexpected surprises—including poetry. A huge fireplace set in dark stone sat across the room, its mantle covered with just one black-and- white image of Tucker as a young lad, standing next to a towering guy with a hard face and a stern stare: Wyatt Lockwood. His Father.

Tucker stood stiffly and had unreadable look even as a small child. Scarlet's eyes strayed to the huge desk. Except for a tiny stack of papers and a lockable drawer on the left-hand side, it stood like a fortification with perfect surfaces. Her heels buried in the thick Persian carpeting, she went gently toward it. On top of the desk, the papers were harmless blueprints, investment analyses, a few odd Beaumont Board correspondences. She took out the top drawer. Empty is empty. The second drawer houses office materials solely. Her eyes then fixed on the third one. The one locked in front of others. She gave it some try. Mired. She looked about the room, her heart rate accelerating. He would keep a key somewhere. Men like Tucker did not let things to chance. She once more carefully went over the bookcase.

Beside a leather-bound compilation of military strategy on the third shelf, she observed a small protrusion. She drew on it. The book slipped forward slightly clicking. a faulty panel. Glinted behind it a tiny silver key. She got it with quivering fingers and went back to the desk. The fitting key is exactly right. The drawer opened with a clicking. Inside were many hefty folders neatly labeled in Tucker's precise handwriting. She passed folders labeled "Beaumont Developments, "Private Acquisitions, "Merger Contracts," until her eyes stopped. The Langstroking Incident. Her fingers stopped over the tab then released it. Inside were copies of prepared reports, bank statements, transcripts, legal briefs. Her vision swirled as she sorted among them. a cash exchange between Wyatt Lockwood and Alan Langston, her father. a falling through land deal. Letters suggesting political pressure, asset seizure threats, and Langston estate quiet at last. A phone discussion between Wyatt and a third party regarding "the girl" as a liability transcribed.

Her breath stopped. And last at the bottom a letter. five years past today. From Wyatt. Paid attention to Tucker. Her hands were shaking as she unfurled it. Tucker. Concern for the Langston girl is no more. I took care of it. You will thank me later on. She would have buried you with sentimentality and mediocre performance. You are meant to do more. Neglect her. Continue to be concentrated. The knees of Scarlet grew weak. Her heartbeat thumping through her temples like war drums, she slumped into the leather chair behind the desk. All this throughout. Tucker didn't know. He had not planned her estrangement from his life. His father had. Wyatt had handed her his hand. had ruined the career of her father. Her family was threatened into quiet. Made her turn away so Tucker would never see the marks of their destruction. Stunned, Scarlet clasped her fingers to her lips. The storm was still to come, though.

The door behind her echoed the softest squeak. Her spine went straight. She turned slowly, blood emptying her face. Tucker stood at the gateway, arms folded, expression unreadable. His jaw tightened, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie came free. Voice dangerously low, he asked, "What, Scar? Are you doing in my office?" Her pulse collapsed. Still sitting open on the desk was the folder. Rising gradually, she seized like prey in a trap. "Tucker," she began, voice faltering, "I can explain " "Explain why you are looking into private records?" He moved in closer, steely eyes. What the devil were you searching for? "I looked for nothing at all. My " "Don’t lie to me." She answered fast, "I noticed the name." "Langston." I really needed to know. You never shared with me anything about what actually transpired between your family and mine. I had to know why everything collapsed. He walked around the desk closing the file.

He breathed hard through his nose, his jaw working silently. "You moved behind my back." Because you stored everything behind locked drawers. He shot her a nasty look. " Those files belong to me." "And that story was mine!" she said sharply. "You never believed I deserved to see pieces of my past buried in a drawer?” "Because I didn't know you were in it," he snipped. "I never knew my father had done it. until now. Between them, silence fell like a tsunami. The breath of Scarlet halted. "You never knew?" He looked down. Not one. Her chest sank and then surged violently. "Then now you do." Tucker knuckles white against the desk edge and turned once again over the file. Then he raised his head toward her, his voice lower now. "Scarlet; what else did you see?" She moved nearer, eyes moist yet brilliant. "I watched everything. Every letter is like this. every purchase. Every threat your father issued to quiet my. He turned aside, pacing with his hand raking through his hair. She came after. "And I noticed how you've been walking about criticizing me for a decision I never had the authority to make." Tucker halt. His eyes once again haunted matched hers. "I should have known," he said quietly. I should have asked about it.

Pushed harder. You couldn't, she remarked. "Not if you lacked knowledge about the enemy you were opposing." He looked at her for a protracted length of time. I then moved slowly ahead. His fingers lifted hesitantly and then swept her cheek. "I'm sorry," he said in a whisper. Her mouth stopped. Then behind them once again another groan. the door. They changed direction. And Gabrielle stood there, sophisticated and grinning like a cat in silk. "Oops," she whispered gently, eyes glittering. "Did I stop someone else from speaking?"