Chapter 7 - Shadows in the Garage
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Three nights later, the physical retaliation began.
I was leaving a late strategy session at the law firm, driving my Range Rover back to the Upper East Side. The city streets were drenched in a light midtown mist, reflections of red neon brake lights stretching across the black asphalt.
I pulled into my townhouse’s private, subterranean parking garage. The heavy iron security gate hummed as it closed behind me, sealing out the noise of the city. Inside, the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long, eerie shadows across the concrete pillars. The air was thick and silent, save for the low hum of the ventilation system.
As I locked the SUV and turned toward the private elevator, a massive silhouette detached itself from the gloom, blocking my path.
I gasped, stumbling backward, my hand instinctively diving into my bag to grip my phone.
Under the sickly yellow light, I recognized him immediately.
It was Silas.
He wore a heavy leather jacket, his scarred face twisted into a hollow, dead-eyed smirk. The suffocating stench of stale tobacco and cheap cologne rolled off him in waves.
“Evening, Mrs. Sterling,” his voice was a gravelly rasp that scraped against my eardrums.
“Or should I say, Miss Kensington? You look a lot sharper without the housewife apron.”
My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, but I forced my chin up, drawing on every ounce of Kensington pride in my veins.
“What are you doing here, Silas? You’re trespassing on private property.”
He took a slow, deliberate step forward, crowding my personal space until I could feel the radiated heat from his towering frame.
“Just thought I’d drop by and check on the boss’s estranged daughter-in-law,” he said softly, tilting his scarred head.
“Word on the street is you and some hotshot lawyer are poking around old dirt upstate. Requesting property records. Asking questions about things that are dead and buried.”
He leaned down slightly, his dark eyes devoid of a single shred of humanity.
“I’m telling you this as a courtesy, Sloane. Some graves should never be disturbed. You’re young, you’re rich, you’ve got a long, pretty life ahead of you. It would be a damn shame if you made things terribly difficult for yourself over a bunch of dead dirt farmers. Glass houses shatter so easily, kid.”
It wasn’t a casual warning; it was an explicit promise of violence.
The primal spike of terror in my stomach was undeniable, but as I looked into the eyes of the monster who had likely poisoned Declan’s grandfather’s dog, my fear metamorphosed into a blistering, righteous anger.
If Richard Sterling felt compelled to deploy his primary attack dog, it meant our legal shovels had struck a deeply vital nerve.
“I appreciate the unsolicited advice, Silas,” I said, my voice steady, though my knees trembled inside my trousers.
“But I suggest you leave before my private security detail comes down those steps and breaks your legs.”
Silas stared at me for three agonizing seconds. The silence in the garage was deafening.
Then, he let out a low, humorless chuckle, stepping back into the shadows behind a concrete support column.
“Have it your way. Let's hope you’re smart enough to know when to fold.”
He melted into the darkness near the emergency exit ramp.
I didn't wait to see if he was truly gone. I sprinted to the elevator, frantically hammering the button until the doors slid shut and whisked me up to safety.
I called Declan immediately.
“He came to my garage,” I told him, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
“Silas. He threatened me.”
“Are you hurt?” Declan demanded, his voice instantly dropping to that dangerous, protective tone.
“No. But he knows we’re looking into the upstate properties.”
“Then we hit a nerve,” Declan said firmly.
May you like
“Stay inside tonight, Sloane. I’m hiring round-the-clock private security for the Kensington estate. They’re getting desperate.”
I knew Silas wasn’t bluffing. But I severely underestimated just how quickly, and how lethally, the Sterlings would strike back.
