Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Chalice
Arthur leaned closer, his old eyes narrowing as they scanned the digital image, the confusion on his face slowly evaporating and hardening into a dark, chilling realization. He knew that mark. It was the private inventory stamp of the Sterling family's most guarded reserve—a vintage reserved exclusively for him, poured only by hands he trusted. Or hands he thought he could trust.
Clara leaned in close, bridging the distance between them until her lips were barely an inch from the old man's ear. Her voice dropped into a velvet, poisonous hum that bypassed the rest of the glittering ballroom entirely.
"She marked that decanter with your name," Clara whispered, her breath brushing against his collar. "And she was watching from across the room to see how long it would take for your heart to stop beating."
