Chapter 42
The bell above the door chimed as Zachary stepped into the quaint tailor shop. The scent of fresh linen and beeswax filled the air as the elderly tailor pressed a silk shirt with meticulous care. His rheumy eyes widened when he recognized his distinguished visitor.
“My word! Mr. Blackwood!”
“Cost isn’t a concern,” Zachary said curtly, placing a mahogany box on the counter. His fingers hesitated before flipping open the lid. “I need your expertise.”
The tailor gasped, his wrinkled hands trembling as he lifted the ruined jacket. “This exquisite piece! The hand-stitched embroidery! Who would dare—”
“My carelessness,” Zachary interrupted, jaw tightening. He couldn’t bring himself to explain how Vanessa’s labor of love had been shredded during his altercation at the docks.
“That sweet girl worked through three nights on this,” the tailor murmured, running a finger along the torn lapel. “I remember bringing her tea when her fingers grew numb from sewing. Such devotion deserves better treatment.”
“Is it salvageable?” Zachary’s voice carried an uncharacteristic edge.
The old man shook his head sadly. “The lining, perhaps. But this Venetian wool? These gold threads? A crime to cover such craftsmanship with crude patches.”
“Just do what you can.” Zachary’s command came out sharper than intended. “Visible mending is acceptable. I’ll return Friday.”
As his chauffeur-driven Bentley approached Blackwood Manor, Zachary sensed the tension before the gates even opened. The normally stoic guards shifted uneasily, and through the leaded windows, he saw shadows moving too quickly in the west wing study.
“Zachary!” Cassandra came rushing down the marble staircase, her usually perfect chignon unraveling. “Thank heavens you’re here! Grandfather’s in one of his rages—he and Father have been shouting for twenty minutes!”
“What’s the provocation this time?” Zachary’s polished Oxfords clicked sharply against the steps. He already knew. It always circled back to Isabella.
Cassandra wrung her hands. “Father authorized the Delacroix bailout without consulting the board. Transferred two of our prime contracts to their failing subsidiaries. Grandfather says it’s treason!” She lowered her voice. “Honestly, Zachary, with your engagement to Vanessa next month, shouldn’t we—”
“Enough.” Zachary cut her off mid-sentence, taking the stairs two at a time. The shouting grew louder as he approached the study door.
Inside, Archibald Blackwood’s wheelchair sat amidst shattered porcelain. The octogenarian patriarch gripped a bronze paperweight like a weapon, his face florid with rage. Across from him, Alistair stood protectively in front of his weeping wife.
“Father, be reasonable!” Alistair’s usually polished demeanor had cracked. “The Delacroixes are practically family! Their collapse would tarnish us all!”
“Idiot boy!” Archibald hurled the paperweight, narrowly missing a Ming vase. “I warned you not to touch that viper’s nest! Now you’ve handed them our Riverside development? Our textile factories?”
Isabella dabbed at her tears with a lace handkerchief. “Archibald, please,” she whispered. “I’ve devoted twenty years to this family. Raised your grandchildren. Never asked for anything—”
“Lies!” Spittle flew from the old man’s lips. “This scheming harlot has been draining our coffers since the wedding! And you!” He pointed a shaking finger at his son. “Too besotted to see she’s using you to prop up her bankrupt relatives!”
Alistair’s arm tightened around Isabella. “How dare you! Everything Isabella does is for this family’s honor!”
A dangerous quiet settled over Zachary as he stepped into the fray. His grandfather’s face had taken on a worrying pallor, veins standing out at his temples. One more outburst could trigger another stroke.
Then the old man’s eyes locked onto Zachary, blazing with sudden understanding. “You knew,” Archibald rasped. “You saw this coming when that Delacroix girl sank her claws into you.” His wheelchair creaked as he leaned forward. “Tell me, grandson—whose side are you on?”
The question hung in the air like sword. Behind Zachary, Cassandra held her breath. Isabella’s tears stopped mid-track. Even Alistair turned expectantly.
Zachary’s fingers brushed against his torn jacket pocket where Vanessa’s engagement ring lay hidden. Every eye in the room followed the movement.
Then the chandelier flickered as thunder rolled in the distance. The storm had arrived.
