Chapter 9 - The Heir to the Empire
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The next morning, the Ashford estate operated under a terrifyingly calm illusion.
Damon sat in the grand dining room, drinking his black coffee, watching Zuri eat a massive plate of pancakes. She was sitting in a high chair that Vance had quietly procured during the night. She swung her legs happily, getting syrup everywhere.
She wasn't a maid’s daughter anymore. She was the Princess of the Ashford Empire.
“Papa Damon?” Zuri asked, holding up a sticky piece of pancake.
The word struck him directly in the chest. He hadn't corrected her; she had just started saying it.
“Yes, little lion?” Damon replied softly.
“Are we going to see the sad lady today?”
Damon’s heart ached. The psychological trauma of Elena’s death must have manifested in Zuri as a "sad lady" guiding her—a lingering connection between a mother and the daughter she sacrificed everything for.
“Not today, sweetheart,” Damon smiled sadly. “Today, Papa has to go take care of the bad man with the snake.”
Zuri nodded seriously, taking a big bite of her pancake. “Okay. Make him go away.”
Naomi stood nervously by the doorway, wearing comfortable, expensive clothes Damon had ordered for her. “Mr. Ashford, what is your plan? If you just kill Silas, the board will demand an investigation. He’s deeply embedded in the company’s legal structure.”
“I am not just going to kill him, Naomi,” Damon said, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. “I am going to destroy him. I am going to strip away his money, his reputation, and his allies. By the time I put a bullet in his head, the world will thank me for it.”
He walked over to Vance, who was waiting by the door.
“Where is Dr. Aris?” Damon asked.
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“We detained the doctor who delivered Zuri at his private residence this morning,” Vance reported grimly. “He is currently resting comfortably in the soundproof basement of the warehouse.”
“Good,” Damon said, a dark, lethal fire burning in his gray eyes. “Prepare the car. It’s time for a medical consultation.”
