Chapter 4 - The Vultures Circle
At 7:30 AM, the kitchen of the Cole estate was usually a hive of silent, efficient activity. A private chef would be preparing Daniel's poached eggs and green tea, while two junior housekeepers cleared the dining room from the day before.
Today, the kitchen was completely empty, save for a billionaire who didn't know how to operate his own industrial-grade espresso machine.
Daniel stood in his grey cashmere sweater and jeans, glaring at the digital display of the German-engineered appliance as if it were a hostile corporate raider. He had managed to find a box of pancake mix in the back of the pantry, but the instructions required measurements he hadn't thought about since high school chemistry.
"You need a bigger bowl," a small voice said from the doorway.
Daniel turned. Elena was standing there, wearing a pair of her own pink pajamas that Daniel had fetched from the cottage earlier that morning while she was still sleeping. Her hair was a wild, beautiful tangle of dark curls, and she was holding her one-eared teddy bear by its arm.
"A bigger bowl?" Daniel asked, looking down at the small ceramic coffee mug he had been trying to mix the batter in.
"Mommy uses the big yellow one," Elena said, stepping into the kitchen with the confidence of a child who spent a lot of time watching people cook. "And you need a big spoon. Not the little tea one."
Daniel couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Right. The big yellow one. Let's find it."
For the next forty-five minutes, the head of Cole Enterprises engaged in the most high-stakes negotiation of his career: trying to flip a pancake without burning it or dropping it on the imported French tile floor. Elena sat on one of the high leather barstools at the kitchen island, her feet swinging back and forth, offering a running commentary that was entirely unhelpful but completely mesmerizing.
"That one looks like a cloud," she observed as Daniel deposited a misshapen, somewhat lumpy disk onto a silver plate. "A burnt cloud."
"It has character, Elena," Daniel replied, wiping a smudge of flour from his forehead. "In the corporate world, we call this an organic design."
Before she could taste it, Daniel’s phone began to ring loudly on the marble counter. The caller ID showed Julian Vance—the activist investor who held an eight-percent stake in Cole Enterprises and spent most of his time trying to find cracks in Daniel's leadership.
Daniel picked it up, his tone reverting instantly to the cold steel his competitors feared. "Julian. I’m busy."
"You're busy?" Julian’s voice came through the speaker, sharp and dripping with aristocratic arrogance. "The Chicago deal is stalled on the floor because your legal team doesn't have your signature. The market opens in fifteen minutes, Daniel. The shares are already slipping because there's a rumor you didn't catch your flight back."
"I am at my home in Westchester, Julian. The deal will close when I review the final clauses this afternoon," Daniel said smoothly, his eyes watching Elena as she carefully poured maple syrup onto her burnt cloud.
"An emergency at home? What emergency?" Julian sneered. "You don't have a family, Daniel. Your house is a cemetery with a gate. What could possibly keep you from a four-hundred-million-dollar close? Did your wine cellar flood?"
Daniel’s grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white. He could feel the cold, lethal rage that had made him famous on Wall Street rising up his throat. He looked at Elena, who was chewing happily, a small dot of syrup on her nose.
"My business is my own, Julian," Daniel said, his voice dropping to a whisper that was far more dangerous than a shout. "If you question my commitment to this company again, I will personally buy out your eight percent at a ten percent discount below market value before the closing bell rings today. Do not call this line again."
He ended the call and flipped the phone facedown on the counter.
"Mr. Daniel?" Elena asked, looking up from her plate. "Are you mad at the phone man?"
May you like
Daniel took a deep breath, forcing the tension from his shoulders as he walked over to sit on the stool next to her. He reached out with a clean napkin and gently wiped the syrup from her nose.
"No, sweetheart," Daniel said softly. "The phone man just doesn't understand what's important."
