The dining room of Blackridge Manor always felt too large when the late-autumn damp settled into the limestone walls of the estate. Victoria had set the table for two at the far end, beneath the low crystal chandelier that cast long, golden reflections across the polished mahogany surface.
She entered from the butler’s pantry carrying the custom engraved silver tea tray, her manicured nails tapping a rhythmic, melodic beat against the metal handle. She had used that same tray since our wedding day, and the sound of her tapping against the silver was as familiar to me as my own breathing.
“You look so tired, darling,” she said, her voice soft and sweet, like honey dissolved in warm water. “You have been staring at those warehouse reports all afternoon.”
She placed a bowl of thick vegetable broth in front of me, the steam rising between us.
“Julian was here earlier,” I said, waiting a long moment before picking up my silver spoon. “He found an irregularity in our primary consulting account.”
Victoria smiled, her eyes perfectly calm as she sat down opposite me and smoothed her dark silk skirt.
“Julian is a very sweet man, Ethan, but he has always been prone to panic,” she said, her voice dropping to that comforting, melodic whisper. “You should trust the people who built this company with you, Ethan.”
“He found a transfer of ninety thousand dollars,” I said. “To a firm called V and H Consultants.”
Victoria did not look up from her soup, but her fingers trembled slightly as she gripped the handle of her silver spoon. I watched her knuckle turn white against the polished metal.
“I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation,” she said, her voice remaining entirely smooth. “Perhaps it was an advance payment for the new barrel-charring equipment we discussed last month.”
“The signature was digital,” I said. “And the firm is based in Lexington. We do not use consultants in Lexington.”
