Chapter 7 Blood and Fire

# Chapter 7: Blood and Fire

The Blake Industries building stands like a monolith against the morning sky, its glass facade reflecting clouds that promise rain. I've entered this building thousands of times over the years, always through the side entrance, always careful not to draw attention. Today, I walk through the main lobby, head held high, heels clicking against marble as security guards and early-arriving employees turn to stare.

"Ms. Foster," the receptionist greets me with wide eyes. News travels fast in corporate America—everyone knows who I am now. "Mr. Blake is waiting for you in the executive conference room."

Of course he is. Not his office, where we might be interrupted or overheard, but the conference room on the top floor with its soundproofed walls and sweeping views. The perfect place for a last stand.

When I enter, Corwin stands at the window, his back to the door, a silhouette against the brightening sky. He's lost weight since the wedding debacle, his once-immaculate suit hanging slightly loose around the shoulders.

"You came," he says without turning. "I wasn't sure you would."

"You said you had proof about Elysia," I reply, remaining near the door. "I'm listening."

He turns then, and I'm struck by the changes in his face—new lines around his eyes, a hardness to his mouth that wasn't there before. This is a man who's felt the ground shift beneath his feet and hasn't quite regained his balance.

"She's working with the Montgomery Group to orchestrate a hostile takeover," he says, sliding a folder across the conference table. "They've been quietly acquiring shares since the wedding. With the stock price depressed, they're close to a controlling interest."

I open the folder cautiously, scanning the documents inside—stock purchase records, emails between Elysia and her father's financial team, strategy memos.

"How did you get these?" I ask, suspicion rising.

"Does it matter? They're planning to use you, Marcelline. Let you do the dirty work of restructuring the company, making the painful cuts, being the public face of unpopular decisions. Then, once the hardest work is done, they'll push you out."

It's a plausible scenario—one that aligns with some of my own doubts about Elysia's sudden desire to partner with me. But coming from Corwin, every word feels tainted with potential manipulation.

"And you're sharing this out of concern for me?" I ask, skepticism evident in my tone.

He steps closer, his familiar cologne bringing unwanted memories. "I'm sharing it because despite everything, I still care about you. And because this company is my legacy—my family's legacy. I'd rather see you running it than watch the Montgomerys strip it for parts."

"Your legacy," I repeat, bitterness seeping into my voice. "The same legacy you were willing to sacrifice by making illegal trades in my name? By framing me for securities fraud?"

His expression flickers—surprise, then calculation. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't insult my intelligence, Corwin. I have the banking records. I know you used my old credentials to execute those short sales before the wedding. You were betting against your own company, profiting from its downfall while setting me up to take the blame."

For a moment, I glimpse the real Corwin beneath the polished exterior—cold, calculating, a man who sees people as pieces on a chessboard. Then the mask slips back into place.

"Who gave you this idea? Alaric?" He laughs, the sound harsh. "Let me guess—you spent the night with him. He's very convincing when he wants to be. Just ask Victoria."

The mention of his sister feels like a deliberate provocation. "Stop using Victoria as a weapon," I say quietly. "She deserves better than to be a pawn in your games, even in death."

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "You know nothing about my sister or what happened to her."

"I know enough to understand that you've been using her memory to justify a decade-long vendetta against Alaric. Just like you used me when it was convenient, then discarded me when something better came along."

"Is that what you think happened?" He steps closer, his voice dropping. "That I discarded you? Marcelline, everything I did—every deal, every connection, every strategic marriage—was to build something we could share. Once I secured the Montgomery alliance, once I had their political backing, I was going to bring you into the light."

The same old promises, repackaged and presented as revelation. Once upon a time, these words might have swayed me. Now, they only strengthen my resolve.

"You had ten years to bring me into the light, Corwin. Ten years of 'just a little longer' and 'be patient.' I'm done waiting."

His expression hardens. "So instead you run to Alaric Donovan? The man has been obsessed with destroying me for a decade. He doesn't care about you—you're just a convenient weapon."

"Maybe," I concede, surprising him. "But unlike you, he's never pretended I wasn't a weapon. He's been honest about his motivations from the start."

"Honest?" Corwin laughs incredulously. "Alaric wouldn't recognize honesty if it slapped him in the face. Did he tell you about the other women he used to get to me over the years? Did he tell you what really happened the night Victoria died?"

Before I can respond, the conference room door opens. Rebecca stands there, her expression apologetic. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Ms. Montgomery is here for the board meeting. She's asking to speak with Ms. Foster urgently."

Corwin's eyes narrow. "The meeting isn't for another hour."

"She says it's an emergency regarding the documents for the presentation," Rebecca explains, giving me a significant look.

I gather the folder Corwin provided. "I need to go."

As I move toward the door, Corwin catches my arm, his grip tight enough to make me wince. "Marcelline, don't do this. You're walking into a trap."

I pull free, meeting his gaze steadily. "The difference is, I'm walking in with my eyes open this time."

In the hallway, Rebecca hurries alongside me toward the elevators. "Alaric Donovan called. He said to tell you he's found something you need to see before the board meeting."

My heart beats faster. "Where is he?"

"Waiting in the executive lounge on 35. And Ms. Montgomery is in the main boardroom already, reviewing presentation materials with her legal team."

The pieces are moving faster now, the endgame approaching. As the elevator descends to the 35th floor, I try to sort through the conflicting narratives, to determine who—if anyone—is telling me the truth.

Alaric rises when I enter the executive lounge, his expression a mixture of concern and determination. He's impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit, but the shadows under his eyes suggest he hasn't slept since I left his apartment.

"What did Corwin want?" he asks without preamble.

"To warn me about Elysia." I hand him the folder Corwin gave me. "He claims the Montgomerys are planning a hostile takeover, using me as their public face during the difficult transition before pushing me out."

Alaric skims the documents, his frown deepening. "These look legitimate. But why would he share this with you?"

"He says he'd rather see me running the company than watch the Montgomerys dismantle it." I shake my head, still processing. "What did you find?"

Alaric pulls out his own folder—this corporate espionage apparently requires a forest's worth of paper trails. "The short sales in your name? They weren't executed by Corwin. They came from Elysia's private trading account."

I stare at the evidence before me—account numbers, IP addresses, transaction records that trace back not to Corwin but to Elysia Montgomery.

"That doesn't make sense," I murmur, trying to reconcile this with the documents she showed me last night. "She has evidence pointing to Corwin."

"Fabricated," Alaric says grimly. "She's playing both sides, Marcelline. Setting you and Corwin against each other while positioning herself to take control of the company."

The realization crashes over me like a wave—Elysia's convenient appearance after Corwin's wedding disgrace, her seemingly genuine anger followed by a too-perfect alliance offer. I've been so focused on the battle between Corwin and Alaric that I missed the third player making her own moves on the board.

"The board meeting," I say suddenly. "If she's there early with her legal team..."

"She's making her move now," Alaric confirms. "We need to get to that boardroom."

As we rush toward the main conference level, my phone buzzes with a text from Rebecca: *"Montgomery team just presented something to the board. They're calling for an immediate vote. Hurry."*

The boardroom doors are closed when we arrive, a security guard posted outside—not Blake Industries security, but a private firm I don't recognize.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Foster," he says, blocking our path. "The board is in closed session."

"I'm the proposed CEO," I protest. "This meeting was called to vote on my restructuring plan."

"Plans have changed," comes a smooth voice from behind us. Elysia Montgomery approaches, flanked by two men in expensive suits. "The board is voting on a different proposal now—one that addresses the unfortunate evidence of securities fraud that came to light this morning."

"Evidence you fabricated," I accuse, anger rising.

Her perfect smile doesn't waver. "That's a serious allegation, Ms. Foster. One you'll have difficulty proving, especially since the board has already seen documentation of your collaboration with Mr. Donovan to manipulate Blake Industries stock."

Alaric steps forward, his expression dangerous. "This won't work, Elysia. We have proof the trades came from your account."

"Do you?" She raises an elegant eyebrow. "How interesting that you obtained such information. Almost as if you had been illegally accessing private banking records—another crime the authorities might be interested in."

She's thought of everything, closing every avenue of attack before we even realized we were fighting her. I feel a grudging admiration beneath my fury—Elysia Montgomery is not the society bride I mistook her for, but a strategist as calculating as Corwin or Alaric.

The boardroom doors open, and Harrison Wells emerges, his expression grave. "Ms. Foster, Mr. Donovan—the board has reached a decision."

Before he can continue, commotion erupts at the end of the hallway. Corwin strides toward us, accompanied by two men in dark suits who are definitely not corporate attorneys.

"Federal agents," Corwin announces, a cold smile directed at Elysia. "Here with a warrant regarding certain financial transactions traced to the Montgomery family accounts."

Elysia's composure finally cracks, shock flashing across her perfect features. "What are you talking about?"

One of the agents steps forward, displaying credentials. "Ms. Montgomery, we have a warrant to seize financial records related to potential securities fraud and market manipulation. We'll need you to come with us to answer some questions."

As the agents lead a protesting Elysia away, Corwin turns to me, triumph gleaming in his eyes. "I told you she was playing you."

"You knew," I realize, the pieces falling into place. "You've been investigating her all along."

"Since the day after the wedding," he confirms. "I know when I'm being set up, Marcelline. The question is—do you?"

His gaze shifts meaningfully to Alaric, who stands tense beside me. The implication is clear: if Elysia was manipulating me, perhaps Alaric is too.

For a moment, doubt clouds my mind again. Then I feel Alaric's hand at the small of my back—not possessive, not controlling, just present. Supporting without demanding.

"The board is waiting," Harrison Wells reminds us, gesturing toward the open doorway.

As we enter the boardroom together—Alaric, Corwin, and I—I realize that the game isn't over. The pieces have shifted, alliances have changed, but the ultimate prize remains unclaimed.

Blood has been drawn today, but the fire is just beginning to rage.