Vultures At Home

Vultures At Home
Tristan’s POV
The shouting followed me all the way up the driveway. Questions were still thrown like stones. Accusations sharpened by lenses and microphones. My name was being mangled into headlines before I even stepped out of the car.
“Mr. Crane, did you intimidate Grace?”
“Are you planning to apologize publicly?”
“Is it true she was underage when you-”
I didn’t slow down. The gates slid shut behind me with a metallic finality that felt like oxygen rushing back into my lungs, but even then, the noise lingered, it was echoing, clinging to my skin like sweat I couldn’t wash off. Cameras flashed through the bars. Voices rose. It was a chant of speculation and judgment.
I got out of my car, still ignoring those vultures. Walking up the few steps, I unlocked the front door, stepped inside, and slammed it shut harder than necessary. The house was silent, yet it didn’t feel like there was any peace, it felt like it always did when too many memories pressed in from the walls. I shrugged out of my jacket and tossed it over the recliner without looking, my hands were already itching for something to do. Something concrete and that made sense.
I let out a heavy breath. The study room will do for now. I can try to bury myself in work, but I need to call Rowan and sort this shit out because he is holding my future in his hands right now. I wanted these hearings to be over and done with, but he is dragging this out. I will be forced to fire him if he pulls the same shit tomorrow. I can’t believe that he thought that Camille and Alex Mendez situation about this house was more important than this hearing.
That fucker.
I went straight to the study room, my footsteps heavy against the tiled floor, my jaw locked so tightly my teeth ached. The door to the study room closed behind me with a soft click, sealing me inside my own thoughts.
I sat behind the desk, opened my laptop, and stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary. My reflection stared back at me in the dark glass. My eyes were bloodshot with a stubbled jaw, a man who looked like he had aged years in weeks.
I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed without thinking. “Crane Industries Security,” a voice answered crisply.
“It’s Tristan. I need additional security at my house. Immediately,” I requested.
There was a pause, and then the keyboard clicked. “Sir, we are stretched thin right now. I can try to-”
“Try harder,” I snapped, anger bled into my voice before I could stop it. “There are paparazzi camped outside my house. This isn’t optional.”
There was another pause. “I will see what I can do, sir.” That was never reassuring.
I ended the call and leaned back in the chair, rubbing my temples. My head throbbed. The courtroom replayed itself behind my eyelids, the smug looks, the murmurs, Grace’s lawyer painting me into something grotesque and unrecognizable with whatever they were discussing amongst themselves as we waited on Rowan. They were painting me into someone I was not.
Predator.
Manipulator.
A powerful man abusing his position.
None of them knew the truth. Or worse...they simply didn’t care. I then dialed Rowan’s number, placing the phone against my ear, it just rang until it went to voicemail. My blood continued to boil. I tried for a second time to no avail. I left him a voice message, “I swear if you do not get back to me via text or call or simply show up to my house, better yet in court tomorrow. Just remember this one fucking thing, Rowan. You. Will. Be. Fired. Immediately. So show the fuck up.” I ended the voice message and sent it to him. I nearly threw my phone across the study room, but I took a deep breath instead, calming myself as I placed my phone on the desk. A shadow fell across the doorway and then I looked up.
Camille stood there, framed by the light in the hall, holding two glasses of whiskey like offerings. She looked… too pleased. Her hair fell effortlessly over her shoulders, her mouth curved into a knowing smile that made something cold coil in my stomach with her lips painted red.
“Tough day?” she asked lightly, stepping inside.
She placed one glass in front of me. I took it without comment, the crystal cold against my palm. I didn’t trust myself to speak yet. She sat across from me, crossing her legs slowly. “I watched the news.” I didn’t look at her. She laughed softly. “You know, for someone who insists he doesn’t care about public perception, you really are kind of a big deal.” I swallowed a mouthful of whiskey. It burned all the way down, but not enough. “Rowan really screwed you over today,” she continued, swirling her drink. “Let’s hope he actually shows up tomorrow. This case isn’t something you can afford to play games with.” My fingers tightened around the glass.
“And honestly,” she added, tilting her head, “Dating a girl that young? Getting her pregnant?” She clicked her tongue. “What did you think would happen, Tristan?”
That did it. I slammed the glass down harder than I meant to, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Whiskey sloshed dangerously close to the rim. “Watch your mouth,” I said flatly. She only smiled.
“Why didn’t you choose someone your own age?” she went on, unbothered. “Someone like Maggie, for example.”
I looked up slowly then. “How do you know about Maggie?” I asked.
Her smirk deepened. “It’s a small world.” She took a slow sip of her whiskey, her eyes never leaving mine.
Rage surged hot and immediate. “None of this is your business,” I snapped. “Why don’t you focus on decorating the shit out of this house like you’ve been dying to do and leave me alone?”
For a moment, I expected offense and anger. Instead, her eyes lit up. “Really?” she said, sitting up straighter. “Does that include the master bedroom?”
My chest tightened. “That room-” I stopped myself and swallowed hard. “Do whatever you want.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “That’s new.”
I shrugged, forcing indifference. “Legally, to my knowledge, this house is yours now.”
The words tasted bitter. The will. Estelle’s signature. The quiet betrayal that still haunts me at the words of Rowan’s final words today. Camille stood with the glass in her hand, and sauntered towards the door. “Be careful,” she said casually. “There are sharks circling you right now.” She paused, glancing back over her shoulder. “Some of them you haven’t even met yet.” The door closed behind her.
I stared at it long after she was gone. She wasn’t wrong. Enemies had a way of emerging when blood hit the water. Grace’s case had painted a target on my back, and every vulture in the city could smell it. Business rivals. Media wolves. People waiting for me to stumble. But I wouldn’t.
I turned back to my laptop, fingers flying across the keys as I prepared for tomorrow’s hearing. Strategy. Counterarguments. Facts.
Grace wanted a public apology. She wouldn’t get one.
And Elona, gosh, she didn’t deserve any of this. Her name dragged through courtrooms. Her pain twisted into a spectacle. I would protect her from whatever came next. Even if it cost me everything else.
The sharks could circle all they wanted.
I wasn’t done fighting yet.