The tentative warmth of the green drawing-room, kindled by Eleanor Vance's fragile presence, was shattered by the sound of raised voices echoing from the entrance hall. Sandra tensed, the peaceful sip of tea turning to ash in her mouth. She recognized one voice immediately: her father's, sharp with a familiar blend of desperation and bluster.
"Where is she? I demand to see my daughter! This is her home, is it not? Or has the Beast locked her away too?"
Paul surged to his feet, his face hardening into the cold mask of the Barton heir, the protective fury instantly replacing the cautious vulnerability he'd shown Eleanor. Eleanor flinched almost imperceptibly, her knuckles whitening around her teacup. Sandra placed a calming hand on Paul's arm before he could stride towards the door.
"Wait," she murmured. "Let me." She stood, smoothing her skirts, drawing on the steely composure she'd honed in the courtroom. "Please, Eleanor, excuse me. This won't take long." She offered the other woman what she hoped was a reassuring smile, though her own pulse was hammering against her ribs.
Paul hesitated, his gaze flicking between Sandra and the source of the commotion. "He has no right—"
"He has desperation," Sandra interrupted quietly. "And that makes him dangerous in its own way. But he is *my* burden to manage. Trust me." She met his stormy grey eyes, seeing the conflict – the instinct to shield her warring with his burgeoning respect for her capability. After a tense moment, he gave a curt nod, though he remained standing, a silent, imposing sentinel near the door.
Sandra walked out into the hall. Arthur Middleton stood just inside the grand doors, rain dripping from his coat onto the polished marble. His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot and wild. Beside him, Evelyn stood, a study in pale, pinched anxiety, her hand gripping Arthur's sleeve as if trying to physically restrain him. A footman hovered nervously nearby.
"Father," Sandra said, her voice cool and level, cutting through Arthur's tirade. "Mother. This is unexpected. And unwelcome, given the hour and the… atmosphere." She deliberately didn't invite them further in.
Arthur whirled on her. "Unexpected? Unwelcome? We are your *parents*, girl! We have a right—"
"You have no rights here," Sandra stated, her voice cutting like ice. "Not after what you did. You forfeited those rights when you signed the contract that sold me to Reginald Barton." She saw Evelyn flinch, her gaze dropping. "Why are you here? The quarterly stipend isn't due."
Arthur spluttered, momentarily wrong-footed by her directness. "Stipend? Is that all you think we care about? We came because of the *trial*! The papers are full of it! Accusations, slander… implications about our business dealings!" He took a step towards her, his finger jabbing the air. "That viper, Reginald, dragging our name through the mud! Claiming he targeted us! It's lies! Vicious lies designed to turn you against us!"
Sandra didn't retreat. She held her ground, meeting his furious gaze with unnerving calm. "Are they lies, Father?" She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the folded copy of Isabella Laurent's decoded journal entry. She didn't unfold it; its presence was enough. "'Middleton – vulnerable. Riverfront key. Reginald eyes it. Pattern repeats.'" She quoted the damning lines softly. "Isabella Laurent saw it years ago. She documented his *pattern*. Your ruin wasn't misfortune. It was design. And you walked right into it."
Arthur's face purpled. "That's… that's the scribbling of a hysterical—"
"Enough, Arthur," Evelyn's voice, thin but sharp, cut through his bluster. She finally met Sandra's eyes. There was no pleading now, only a weary, pragmatic acknowledgment. "He targeted us. We know it. Deep down, we've always known it. The speed… the ruthlessness… it wasn't normal market forces." She released Arthur's sleeve, stepping slightly apart from him. "We came… we came because we're afraid, Sandra. Afraid of what this exposure means. For us. For the… arrangement."
Sandra saw the calculation in Evelyn's eyes, the survival instinct overriding Arthur's wounded pride. Good. That, she could work with. "The arrangement," Sandra said, folding her arms, "is contingent on your cooperation. On your silence and your usefulness. Not on hysterical demands made in my hallway." She glanced meaningfully towards the morning room door, where she knew Paul stood listening. "Mr. Barton is understandably protective after recent events. Your outburst does not inspire confidence."
Arthur made a strangled sound, but Evelyn silenced him with a look. "What do you need, Sandra?" she asked, her voice flat. "To maintain the… arrangement?"
"Information," Sandra stated. "Useful information. Not panicked accusations. You move in circles where Reginald's shadow still lingers. Who is he communicating with? Who benefits from his downfall? Who is maneuvering against Barton Industries now? Specifically," she leaned forward slightly, "a Lord Hemsworth. What do you know of him? His interests? His relationship with Reginald?"
Arthur blinked, momentarily thrown by the specific question. Evelyn's eyes sharpened. "Hemsworth?" she murmured. "Ambitious. Cunning. Always circling the edges of Reginald's deals. He owns significant shipping interests downriver… near the Middleton warehouses." She paused, connecting the dots Sandra had already mapped. "He… he approached Arthur once. Shortly before our… difficulties. Made an offer for the riverfront parcels. A low offer. Arthur refused." She shot her husband a look that held decades of resentment. "Hemsworth wasn't pleased. Said we'd regret it."
Arthur paled slightly, the memory clearly uncomfortable. "He implied… pressure. But we had the Barton deal then…"
"Which Hemsworth likely saw as a direct snub," Sandra finished. "And now, with Reginald fallen, Hemsworth sees an opportunity. He's making a bid for Barton assets. Using the scandal to smear Paul." She filed the information away – Hemsworth had motive for both the Middleton ruin and the current attacks. "That," she said to Evelyn, "is useful. More of that. Less hysterics." She looked pointedly at Arthur. "Control yourself, Father. Your survival depends on it. Another scene like this, and the 'arrangement' ends. Permanently."
Arthur looked like he might explode, but Evelyn gripped his arm again, harder this time. "Understood," she said, her voice tight. "We'll… listen. We'll observe."
"See that you do," Sandra said. She turned towards the footman. "Mr. and Mrs. Middleton were just leaving. Please see them to their carriage." She didn't wait for their response, turning on her heel and walking back towards the morning room.
As she re-entered, Paul was standing exactly where she'd left him, a dark, silent storm contained by sheer will. Eleanor sat rigidly, her teacup forgotten, her eyes wide with the echo of the confrontation. Sandra closed the door softly behind her.
"Apologies, Eleanor," Sandra said, forcing her voice back to calm. "Unpleasant, but necessary business."
Paul's gaze burned into her. "He laid hands on you? That tone—"
"No hands," Sandra reassured him quickly, crossing the room. She could feel the tension radiating from him. "Just words. Loud, foolish words." She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath the fine wool. "I handled it. We have a name: Hemsworth. And confirmation he had eyes on our riverfront years ago."
Paul's focus sharpened, the protective fury momentarily channeled into strategic thought. "Hemsworth," he growled. "I'll have Davies dig deeper."
"Later," Sandra said softly, her hand still on his chest, a grounding touch. She looked towards Eleanor, who was watching them with an expression Sandra couldn't quite decipher – part astonishment, part dawning respect. "Right now," Sandra continued, "I believe we have a business meeting scheduled? The Middleton ledgers?"
Paul took a deep, deliberate breath, visibly forcing the rage back down. He covered Sandra's hand on his chest with his own, squeezing gently. The silent communication passed between them – trust, partnership, shared purpose. He nodded curtly. "The study. Davies has them ready." He finally looked at Eleanor, his expression softening slightly. "Eleanor, would you…? You have a keen mind. Your perspective, after what you witnessed in that world… it might be valuable."
Eleanor looked startled, then thoughtful. She set her teacup down with a quiet click. "After that… demonstration in the hall?" She glanced towards the door, then back to Sandra. "I believe I have a clearer understanding of the battlefield, Mr. Barton. And Mrs. Barton's… tactics." A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. "Yes. My perspective might indeed be relevant. Lead the way."
The walk to Paul's study felt different. The confrontation had left a residue, but it was overshadowed by a sense of shared purpose. Paul walked beside Sandra, his hand now resting protectively on the small of her back, a silent anchor. Eleanor followed a step behind, observant and quiet. As Paul opened the study door, revealing the large table spread with ledgers and maps, Sandra felt a surge of determination. The ledgers represented the past – the ruin, the manipulation. The maps represented the future – the riverfront, the potential. And standing here, with Paul's strength beside her and Eleanor's quiet intelligence joining their council, Sandra Middleton knew the lines in the sand had been drawn. Not just against external enemies like Hemsworth, but against the toxic patterns of the past embodied by her own father. They would rebuild. They would reclaim. And they would do it together, ledger by ledger, line by defiant line.
Paul pulled out a chair for Sandra, his touch lingering for a heartbeat. As she sat, unfolding the first ledger, she caught Eleanor's eye. The other woman gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. It wasn't camaraderie yet, but it was recognition. Recognition of a shared enemy, and recognition of the formidable woman who had just drawn a line in the sand of Blackwood's grand hall. The battle for the future had moved from the courtroom to the ledger books, and Sandra was ready.