Chapter 5 - The Glass Mansion
Vale Manor rose from the snow-covered bluffs of Lake Forest like a stone fortress.
Towering wrought-iron gates swung open as the town car Caleb had summoned rolled up the winding gravel driveway. Ancient oaks, stripped bare by winter, arched over the frozen ground like skeletal fingers. Security cameras sat perched atop stone pillars, tracking our vehicle with mechanical precision.
Beside me in the back seat, Caleb looked every inch the billionaire heir. He wore a bespoke three-piece charcoal suit, a crisp white shirt, and a silk tie. His hair was combed back with aristocratic perfection. His expression was completely blank—a mask of cold, distant emptiness.
I smoothed down the lapels of my dark navy blazer, my palms slick with sweat. In my leather portfolio lay the falsified legal certification Caleb had created, alongside the real state guidelines for non-verbal conservatorship proceedings.
"Remember," I whispered, keeping my lips clearly visible for him, "if Marcus is in that room, he'll recognize me."
Caleb didn't turn his head. He kept his gaze locked on the approaching limestone facade, but beneath his coat, his hand found mine. He gave my fingers a single, firm squeeze.
*Trust me,* he signed with two subtle finger taps against my palm. *Speak only what I direct you to speak. Let Dominic play the tyrant. It will be his undoing.*
The car stopped. The rear door was jerked open by Marcus.
The enforcer’s eyes went wide the moment they landed on me. His hand twitched toward the inside of his leather jacket, his scar twisting as his jaw dropped. "What the hell—"
"Step aside, Marcus," a sharp voice rang out from the grand double doors of the mansion.
Standing on the heated stone steps was Dominic Vale, dressed in a burgundy smoking jacket, holding a glass of Scotch despite it being nine in the morning. Behind him stood two men in tailored gray suits carrying leather briefcases—lawyers from the state oversight committee.
Dominic walked down the steps slowly, his gaze sweeping over Caleb, then fixing onto me with lethal intensity. The air between us dropped below zero.
"Hannah Mercer," Dominic said softly, his voice a razor blade wrapped in silk. "I didn't expect you to show up at my front door. Especially after you vanished from the alley behind Bellamy’s last night."
I stepped out of the car, standing tall, holding up my credential badge with an unyielding grip. "I was contacted at midnight by the Illinois Adult Protective Services emergency intake, Mr. Vale. Pursuant to Chapter 755, Section 5/11a of the Illinois Probate Act, any hearing regarding the permanent transfer of conservatorship over a non-verbal adult requires an independent, state-certified ASL interpreter not affiliated with the petitioner's legal counsel."
Dominic’s eyes flicked to the state lawyers on the porch. Their presence was a shield. The lawyers were nodding in agreement; they had received the automated state notification three hours earlier from Caleb’s rogue servers.
Dominic’s jaw clenched so tight the tendons stood out like cords on his neck. He stepped into my personal space, his breath smelling of peat and tobacco.
"You're playing a very dangerous game, little girl," he hissed under his breath, low enough that the lawyers couldn't hear. "You think having a plastic badge keeps you breathing?"
"I think the state monitors behind you would find it deeply suspicious if your son's official interpreter suffered an accident before the documents were executed," I replied, staring straight into his murderous eyes.
Dominic let out a short, harsh bark of laughter. He turned toward Caleb, who stood by the car door, gazing blankly at the snow as if he had no idea where he was.
May you like
"Look at him," Dominic sneered, waving a dismissive hand at his son. "He doesn't even know what year it is. Fine. Come inside, Miss Mercer. Let’s see how well your fingers work when forty million dollars of voting stock is on the line."
***
