Chapter 2 - The Dinner of Wolves
The scent of rosemary-crusted tenderloin filled the kitchen of our four-bedroom brownstone in historic Oakridge. Classical piano music played softly from the ceiling speakers. I had spent two hours preparing the meal with mechanical precision, slicing fingerling potatoes into uniform rounds, trimming asparagus spears, and setting the mahogany dining table with our wedding china—the silver-rimmed Bernardaud plates Ethan had insisted on when we registered six years ago.
Every movement I made was measured. When my pulse began to race, I took slow, rhythmic breaths, focusing on the faint, invisible flutter deep within my pelvis. *You are safe,* I told my baby. *Mommy is right here.*
At six forty-five, the heavy oak front door clicked open.
“Savannah?” Ethan’s voice called out from the entryway, smooth and rich with theatrical warmth. “Babe, something smells incredible.”
He walked into the kitchen, shedding his charcoal cashmere overcoat and tossing his briefcase onto the island counter. He looked handsome in the way men who never work with their hands do—tall, broad-shouldered, with thick brown hair swept back from a sharp jawline and clear blue eyes that had once made my heart race.
Now, looking at those eyes, all I saw was the reflection of a dead man walking.
He crossed the hardwood floor and leaned down to kiss my lips. I turned slightly, letting his mouth catch the corner of my cheek.
“You’re home early,” I said, keeping my tone light, airy, and effortlessly soft. “I thought the zoning board was keeping you until eight.”
“Managed to wrap things up,” he said, reaching into the silver bowl of roasted nuts on the island. “The city planning director had a family emergency, so we adjourned early. God, I’m exhausted.” He walked behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, his hands resting casually over my stomach.
A wave of revulsion rose like bile in my throat, but my skin remained cool. I did not flinch.
“How was your sister?” he asked, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Was she okay? I know how hard it was for you to go there today, seeing a newborn after... well, after everything we’ve been through.”
The sheer audacity of his performance was breathtaking. He was pretending to comfort me for the very grief he was actively exploiting.
“She looked tired,” I said, stirring the red wine reduction in the pan. “Mother was there, of course. Holding court like a queen mother.”
Ethan chuckled, a soft, indulgent sound. “Eleanor is devoted to her girls. Natalie had a rough labor, from what Eleanor texted me earlier.”
“Did she?” I asked, turning to face him with an innocent tilt of my head. “I didn't think you two communicated directly about medical details.”
Ethan didn't blink. His sociopathy was refined, honed over years of corporate ladder-climbing. “Eleanor sent a group text while I was between meetings. Just keeping the family in the loop. Did Natalie like the gift?”
“I actually didn't get to give it to her,” I lied smoothly. “When I arrived, the nurses were moving her to an imaging suite for routine postpartum checks. Mom was in the room holding the baby, but she seemed so overwhelmed that I decided to drop the bag off later this week. I didn't want to crowd her.”
Ethan’s posture relaxed visibly. The tension in his shoulders melted away. He truly believed I had stood in that hallway for half a second, dropped off no presents, and left without seeing a soul.
“Well, that was considerate of you,” he said, squeezing my arm. “You’ve always been the sensible one, Savannah. The steady rock of this family.”
*The useful one,* I corrected silently. *The one who pays the mortgage.*
“Go get changed,” I said with a warm smile. “Dinner is ready in five minutes.”
As Ethan headed up the curved staircase toward the master suite, his briefcase sat unattended on the kitchen island.
I waited until I heard the shower running upstairs.
Moving with silent, practiced speed, I slipped on a pair of thin latex gloves from the kitchen drawer. I unzipped Ethan’s leather briefcase. Inside was his sleek company-issued ThinkPad, his leather-bound daily planner, and a small, magnetic keycard with an unfamiliar corporate logo: *Vanguard Storage & Holdings, Unit 412*.
I pulled Julian’s matte-black USB drive from my apron pocket. I took Ethan’s laptop, connected the drive to the left-side port, and pressed the power button.
The screen flickered. A tiny command terminal window popped up, running silent lines of green code that dissolved almost as quickly as they appeared.
*Cloning partition 1 of 2...*
*Accessing encrypted vault: Stonebridge_Archival...*
*Transfer complete. Drive unmounted.*
The entire process took twenty-eight seconds. The screen returned to its clean, locked desktop background. I pulled out the USB, wiped the port with a microfiber cloth, slid the laptop back into his briefcase, and zippered it shut.
My phone chimed from the counter.
It was Eleanor.
I peeled off the gloves, dropped them into the disposal chute beneath the sink, and answered.
“Savannah?” My mother’s voice was sharp, edged with that familiar, demanding petulance she reserved exclusively for me. “Where on earth did you disappear to this afternoon? Natalie was expecting you to sit with her.”
“I was there, Mom,” I said, keeping my voice gentle, almost timid. “The nurse said she was resting, so I didn't want to disturb her.”
“Well, you should have waited,” Eleanor snapped. “Natalie is completely drained. And that hospital room... the basic maternity suite is an absolute disaster. The private recovery suites on the fifth floor cost an extra twelve hundred dollars a day, and the hospital is demanding a credit card guarantee before they move her.”
“Twelve hundred a day?” I echoed softly. “That seems very expensive, Mom.”
“Expensive? Your sister just brought a human life into this world, Savannah! She doesn't have a husband to lean on. The least we can do as her family is provide her with a dignified, quiet environment to heal. I gave the admissions clerk your American Express number, but it was declined for a security block. You need to call the bank immediately and clear the transaction.”
She hadn't even asked. She had simply taken my credit card number—which she kept saved in her shopping apps—and handed it to the billing desk.
*Without Savannah paying the mortgage and credit cards, neither of you would have this life.*
“Oh, that’s so strange,” I said, feigning confusion. “I had some unusual activity flagged on the card yesterday, so the bank put a temporary hold on external merchant charges. I won’t be able to lift it until I visit a branch in person tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning? Savannah, she needs that suite tonight!”
“There’s nothing I can do until the bank opens, Mom. But don't worry. I’m sure Ethan can put it on his card if it’s an emergency. He’s right upstairs.”
A sharp intake of breath hissed through the receiver. Eleanor hesitated—a sudden, panicked pause that brought a cold, satisfying smile to my lips.
“No! No, don't bother Ethan,” Eleanor said hastily, her voice climbing an octave. “He’s working so hard on his firm partnership. The poor man doesn't need to be dragged into domestic drama. I’ll... I’ll speak to the ward administrator. But you go to the bank the moment it opens, do you hear me?”
“Of course, Mom. I’ll take care of everything.”
I ended the call just as Ethan walked back into the dining room. He had changed into a soft gray cashmere sweater and dark jeans, looking fresh, relaxed, and utterly untroubled by conscience.
“Who was that?” he asked, pulling out his chair.
“Just Mom,” I said, carrying the platter of carved beef to the table. “Checking in. She said Natalie is doing well.”
“Good. That’s good.” Ethan poured two glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon. He pushed one toward me.
“To us,” he said, raising his glass, his eyes holding mine with an unsettling intensity. “To our future, Savannah. Things are going to change very soon. Sterling & Cross is finalizing the new partner roster next Friday. Once my name is on that brass plaque, we won’t have to worry about anything ever again.”
I looked at the deep red wine in the crystal goblet.
“To our future,” I replied, lifting the glass to my lips, letting the rim touch my mouth without swallowing a single drop. “May everyone get exactly what they deserve.”
Ethan grinned, drinking deeply. “Amen to that, sweetheart.”
As he chewed his steak, compliments spilling from his mouth about my culinary talents, I felt the USB drive resting securely against my thigh in my skirt pocket.
May you like
He didn't know that Julian Brooks was already decrypting his files. He didn't know that Cynthia Vance was already drafting the freeze orders. And he certainly didn't know that the woman sitting across from him—the woman he believed was broken, barren, and blind—was measuring the exact dimensions of his grave.
***
