Chapter 35 Memory unlocked
CHAPTER 35: Memory unlocked
Silas
The glass doors of my office had barely clicked shut behind the departing team from LutherCorp when the air shifted.
Natalie didn't leave.
She remained seated, her tablet and notebook neatly stacked together.
“I don't remember boring holes into my head being part of the agenda today,” I said without looking away from my laptop screen, my gaze pinned on Damien Vane’s picture.
Something familiar about him nagged at my memory…something I couldn't shake.
“Was that really necessary?”
Finally I looked in her direction.
“Vetting the integrity of Longhorn before—”
“We both know I wasn't talking about the investors.”
I chuckled, mirthlessly. “Ah I see. We have a psychic connection now, Nat?”
She could barely contain her irritation.
“Well, if you aren't going to spit it out, then I have work to do,” I said, returning my attention to the laptop.
Truth be told, I was still furious with her after that ugly incident at Laurent.
“Laurent.”
I didn’t react, kept scanning the dossier on Damien Vane all over again.
“That was remarkably swift, Silas,” shebremarked, her voice a careful blend of displeasure and caution. “Laurent wasn't just a label; it was a brand that has been closely associated with this company, and the Rutherford name.”
“And your point is?”
“Chloe was a staple in the luxury industry. To see a fashion empire dismantled in a single night… she may decide to point fingers at you. I know it was you.”
I didn't reply for a while, then I picked up the tablet on my desk, my thumb scrolling through a series of quarterly projections.
“Yes.”
I never intended to hide nor deny it.
She shot up from her seat.
She scoffed. “What is wrong with you? You’re becoming more reckless everyday,” she snapped. “I can’t believe that now, I prefer when you were cavorting with your playthings. This is getting out of hand.”
I stared at her. A muscle ticked in my jaw.
“I’ll pretend I didn't hear that.”
Her eyes slightly widened, then narrowed.
“Incompetence is an expensive and unforgivable habit, Natalie, especially by me.”
She shook her head. “Seriously. Don't you think you went too far?”
“Chloe Laurent made the mistake of thinking her status granted her immunity for her loose mouth. I merely settled the bill for her lack of discretion.”
A brief silence ensued.
“I know what this is about. We both know this wasn't about her business ethics,” Natalie pressed, folding her arms across her chest, holding my gaze. “You did this because of what happened during Vera’s fitting.”
She flung her arms out wildly. “For God's sake, Silas. You didn't just collapse a label; you burned an empire. You razed a freaking house down, simply because your ‘wife’ was disrespected. I’m just wondering if that girl is worthy of the gravity of protection you're providing.”
“I have no interest in whether she deserves it, or if she asked for it,” I replied coldly, finally meeting her eyes.
“So it was a romantic gesture?” she fired back. “Destroying a multi-million dollar house because the designer was rude to your wife?”
“It was a business correction. I merely served a lesson. Disrespecting a Rutherford is a bad investment.”
She snapped. “For one second, can you see this for what it is?” She took a deep breath. Her voice dropped an octave. “You did it for her. For Vera.”
How dare she turn this around on me when she stood idly by while that woman disrespected my wife?
“You’re one to talk,” I sneered. “You never tried to stop her.”
“I didn't see the need to. I thought she was just doing her job.”
My jaw worked. “Well then, I suggest you do your job now.”
I paused, a thought flickering at the back of my mind. I slid the laptop towards her, the picture of Damien still on the screen. “One more thing. Do you recognize him?”
Natalie stepped closer, leaning in to peer closely at the screen, her brow furrowing as she studied the sharp, frantic features of the man.
Being that I was mostly with Natalie, and met a lot of people at work, I figured that she might recognise him.
After a long moment, she straightened, shaking her head.
“No. I don't. Should I?” she asked, her gaze flicking back to the screen. “He doesn't look like anybody I know. Who is he? A client?”
“No one of importance,” I deadpanned, taking back the laptop.
She wasn’t convinced. Natalie knew me well enough to know that I never bothered unless it was serious.
Before she could ask the countless questions I was sure were bugging her mind, the sharp buzz of her own phone cut her off.
She checked the screen.
“I have to go. The people for the venture capital split are waiting in the boardroom.”
She gathered her notebook and tablet and headed towards the door.
“Remember you still need to sign your approval over those new venture capital splits we discussed.”
With that she walked out and the door clicked shut behind her.
I stared at the spot where she had stood, but my mind was suddenly racing, leafing through the expansive, meticulous archives of my memory.
Damien Vane.
The name had been on my mind since last night, but now, in the stillness, the image of his face finally locked into a specific time and place.
It clicked with the force of a hammer hitting a nail.
A little over two months ago, a man had come to this very office, pitching a partnership that reeked of back-alley dealings and shady deals.
I had declined him within minutes; I didn’t trust his eyes. But the realization that hit me next was like a physical blow.
That man was Damien Vane.
I sat back, my blood turning to ice. I had rejected him as a business partner, yet here he was, entwined in the life of the woman I had married.
He was her ex-boyfriend.
I could help wonder what was going on.
Was this an elaborate plan?
The buzz of the intercom shattered the quiet.
“Sir?” my secretary, Mary, hesitated. “You have a guest in the lobby. He doesn't have an appointment—”
“Send them away,” I ended the call.
A few moments later, Mary called again.
“S-sir…he’s quite insistent. He said his business is personal and that you’d want to see him if you heard his name.”
A wild suspicion gnawed at me.
I leaned forward, my jaw tightening. “And the name, Mary?”
“He says it’s Damien Vane, sir.”