Chapter 87 The Slow Boil
Chapter 87 The Slow Boil
With Henry and Sophia both away from the office for several days, the break room in the Caldwell Corporation's logistics department had begun to carry a faint, lingering scent of instant coffee.
Thomas shoved a stack of purchase orders into the file cabinet with a flick of irritation. A soft sound behind him made him turn.
Oscar was walking over, two paper cups in hand, a perfectly measured smile on his face.
"Mr. Caldwell, taking a breather?"
He handed one cup over. Condensation beaded on the paper wall.
"Fresh Blue Mountain coffee. I know it's your favorite."
Thomas hesitated for a moment before taking the cup.
He gave a thin, self-deprecating smile. "I'm just a deputy logistics manager now. You don't need to butter me up."
Oscar leaned casually against the cabinet, sipping from his cup.
"You're still part of the Caldwell family. That doesn't change. Buying you coffee is the least I can do."
His tone was humble, but his eyes carried a knowing warmth.
"Everyone knows Mr. Henry Caldwell keeps a tight grip on power. But you're still his brother. When he comes around, do you really think the Caldwell Corporation won't have a place for you?"
Thomas's grip on the cup tightened. The words brushed against a sore spot he'd been trying to ignore.
He'd heard enough whispers in logistics these days — that he was dead weight, coasting on Henry's name. Even printing a document had drawn snide remarks about whether he knew how to use the machine.
Yet here was Oscar, a relative he barely spoke to, treating him with respect. It loosened something in his chest.
"Henry, he..." Thomas began, wanting to say his brother wasn't all bad.
But the memory of Henry's cold face, telling him to start from the bottom, stopped him. The words died in his throat.
Oscar took it all in, a cold amusement curling in his chest, even as his smile widened with practiced warmth. "Mr. Henry Caldwell's just hard-headed. Doesn't mean you don't matter to him." But let's be honest — logistics is beneath you. You know the business, you know the company. You're wasted here."
Thomas exhaled, not disagreeing.
From that day on, Oscar found reasons to show up around Thomas. He always brought something — a pack of good cigarettes, a small expensive gift.
Beneath Oscar's words lay a steady undercurrent: Thomas had been treated unfairly, and Henry's actions were not only excessive but blatantly biased.
Thomas began to lower his guard.
One late night, staring out at Henry's office light still burning, Thomas muttered to Oscar, "Do you think Henry's ever really respected me? Or am I just the screw-up in his eyes?"
"No way," Oscar said, handing him a beer. "If he's disappointed, it's because he expected more from you. And if he doesn't look out for you, you've still got the rest of us. We're family. You need help, you come to me."
The clink of bottles made Thomas's throat tighten.
His own brother kept him at arm's length, while this distant relative offered warmth.
Not long after, Thomas brought Susan to meet Oscar. They chose a specialty restaurant near the company. The private room was heavy with the aroma of food.
Oscar walked in smiling, his eyes flicking briefly to Susan's rounded belly. "So this is Mr. Thomas Caldwell's fiancée? I've heard so much about you. A beauty, just as he said."
Susan, seated beside Thomas, forced a polite smile. She had dressed with care, but Oscar's gaze unsettled her — not the look one gave a pregnant woman, but the cool appraisal of someone sizing up an asset.
"You look positively radiant for an expectant mother," Oscar said with a faint smile, ladling soup into her bowl. "Mr. Thomas Caldwell ought to treat you like the crown jewel. After all, the Caldwell family's first grandson is worth his weight in gold."
Susan didn't reply, but her eyes caught on the watch at Oscar's wrist — a luxury model she recognized. She'd seen the same design in Megan's jewelry box, though Megan's was older.
Throughout the meal, Oscar kept refilling Thomas's glass, talking about how a man needed to be able to handle pressure, while slipping questions toward Susan — where she used to work, how she and Thomas met.
The words were casual, but the intent felt probing.
Susan answered politely, but unease coiled in her gut. She'd looked into Oscar beforehand — a distant nephew of John, ten years in the Caldwell Corporation, rising from the bottom to logistics supervisor. He'd touched many projects but left no notable achievements.
A man who could survive that long in a corporation without standing out was either highly competent or dangerously adept at playing the game.
"You must know Mr. Henry Caldwell well after all these years," Susan said suddenly, feigning ignorance to test him. "Thomas says he's tough. Is he like that in private too?"
Oscar paused, then smiled. "Mr. Henry Caldwell is strict, sure, but with family..." His gaze slid to Thomas. "He protects his own. He's just not good with words."
It was a careful answer — no criticism of Henry, but enough to feed Thomas's pride.
Susan saw the flicker of calculation in Oscar's eyes and felt a chill.
This man was anything but simple.
She brushed her knee against Thomas's under the table, a silent warning to slow down on the drinks. He didn't notice, too busy clinking glasses with Oscar.
"You get me, Oscar. I knew someone would."
Susan stayed quiet, sipping her soup, but her mind was already drawing lines between Oscar and the "mole" Sophia had mentioned.
A man who could blend in for years, win trust, and move freely — if he wanted to plant a knife, he'd be closer than anyone.
When the meal ended, Oscar insisted on paying.
He clapped Thomas on the shoulder. "Let's do this more often. If you ever feel wronged in logistics, you know where to find me."
As Oscar's car disappeared down the street, Susan tugged at Thomas's arm and said quietly, "There's something off about him."