Chapter 13: Fracture Lines
BREAKING NEWS: THE DARNELLS FACING MAJOR BACKLASH AFTER A MASSIVE CASUALTY ON ONE OF THEIR PROPERTIES
Faulty Wiring Sparks Fire at Darnell Waste Disposal Site.
Sources say the fire, which left seventeen injured and four dead, was the result of neglected maintenance and poor oversight.
The flat-screen mounted in Sebastian Darnell's office played the looping news headline again, each rotation scraping a layer of composure from his face. His office was dark despite the hour. Curtains drawn, lights off. Only the television glowed, casting sharp blue shadows over his desk cluttered with open folders, extinguished cigars, and an untouched cup of black coffee going cold.
He didn't blink when the footage cut to grieving family members gathered outside the ruins of the facility. His eyes stayed fixed on the anchor's voice, but his jaw tightened slowly, muscle by muscle, until the bone cut a hard line through his cheek.
"It wasn't supposed to reach the press," he said. Not to anyone in particular. The room was empty, the silence so taut it hummed.
The intercom on his desk clicked on with a soft chime.
"Sir?" came William's voice.
Sebastian didn't answer.
"There's a board member calling from Brussels. They want—"
"I don't care what they want," Sebastian said, low and final.
Silence. Then the line disconnected.
He stood, spine cracking with the sudden movement. On his wall, a framed map of their business holdings spanned coast to coast—real estate, warehouses, political sponsorships. Everything interconnected. All of it vulnerable.
There'd been a time when he could squash panic with the wave of a hand. But now, this—second explosion, second time he was blindsided—it was too clean to be coincidence. He could practically feel the speculation curling around their name like smoke. He didn't need to see the leaked photos of fire-blistered steel to know how the public would react. Negligence. Corruption. The usual.
But this wasn't usual.
It was targeted.
And if anyone else in the family dared to bring that up, he'd cut the thought down at the root.
Downstairs, the main floor of the Darnell estate was a silent sprawl of black marble and polished steel. William stood at the dining table, phone pressed to his ear, a spreadsheet glowing on his laptop and a second phone buzzing in his hand. His blazer hung on the back of a nearby chair, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled halfway to his elbows. He looked like he hadn't slept, because he hadn't.
"I've already told the press team what to say," he muttered into the phone. "We're running the electrical audit narrative. It's the only thing that sticks."
His brow furrowed as he jotted numbers into a notebook with one hand while scrolling with the other.
"No, don't offer compensation yet. That would imply guilt. Let the legal team breathe first."
He hung up and sank into the chair, his breath catching against the rising tide of exhaustion. The fire had wrecked everything. Not just property. Momentum. Control. They were in cleanup mode now, and cleanup meant weakness.
He didn't like this feeling.
Neither did Calliope, who stepped into the dining hall still dressed in an immaculately pressed skirt and cream blouse. Her earrings sparkled like glass splinters. A planner clutched in one hand, phone in the other. She didn't look tired, but that was always the trick with her.
"I've been working with the outreach team," she said, coming around the table. "If we offer full tuition to the families affected—at least one child per victim—it might restore some goodwill."
William didn't look up. "That sounds expensive."
"It sounds human."
"Humanity is for people who aren't getting sued."
She held back the eye roll by a thread and straightened the stack of folders he'd left out. He didn't thank her.
"I'll draft the proposal for father," she said.
"No need. He's in another mood tonight."
"I can handle his moods."
"You think so?" William finally met her eyes. "He screamed at a state senator this morning. On a public call."
Calliope's expression froze. She turned to pour herself coffee, but the silence between them grew stiff.
"Did you sleep?" she asked.
He shook his head. "You?"
"No."
A beat passed. The clock ticked. Somewhere in the house, the pipes groaned as the staff finished shutting down the east wing.
Then—"William," she said, softly. "Do you think… this was really just faulty wiring?"
William blinked. He looked tired enough not to pretend.
"No," he admitted. "But the alternative is worse."
Calliope sat. Folded her hands. Tapped one red nail against the ceramic mug.
"I was thinking of Heira," she said.
The name hung in the air for half a second too long.
William didn't answer.
"She was always… quiet, but she watched everything. She remembered details. I used to think it was pathetic. Now I wonder if she was just—waiting."
"For what?"
"I don't know." She looked down. "To strike. To run. To ruin something."
William sighed and dragged his hands through his hair. "You sound paranoid."
"I sound realistic."
"She's gone, Calliope."
"I know." Her voice grew sharper. "But we lost control of her. And I think we underestimated how much that would cost us."
Footsteps echoed down the corridor before William could answer.
Sebastian entered like a storm. Black suit, unbuttoned. No tie. His eyes raked across the room and landed on Calliope first.
"You," he snapped. "What the hell were you doing at the press office today?"
She straightened. "I was working on statements—"
"You don't speak for this family."
"I never said I did. I only—"
"You're not cleared to talk to media or policy advisors. What were you trying to do, win some imaginary gold star from your mother?"
The jab landed. Calliope's jaw twitched.
"I was trying to help," she said, calm but brittle. "You didn't have a plan, so I—"
"Because I was too busy handling the firestorm your little schemes caused. Sit down and shut up before you make this worse."
William looked like he wanted to vanish into the table. Calliope's hands went white around her mug, but she said nothing.
Sebastian turned to his son. "And you—why is the audit team still in Connecticut? I told you to reassign them."
"They're the only ones who know how to—"
"Then retrain someone faster," Sebastian barked. "You don't patch bullet wounds with duct tape."
The television in the corner flared with a new segment.
ANOTHER DARNELL SITE UNDER FIRE?
William turned his head in time to catch the headline flash across the screen. His stomach dropped.
"What—" he started, reaching for the remote.
A drone shot played across the top corner. The camera panned over smoldering rubble, just starting to cool. Police barricades, ambulances, a haze of gray air.
"Another facility went up?" Calliope said.
"No," William said. "No, no, no. That site was dormant. It was under reconstruction. Nobody was even supposed to be working today."
But the crawl at the bottom of the screen was unmistakable:
Four more injured. Suspected gas leak. Darnell Construction site C-54.
Sebastian stared. The lines in his face etched deeper.
"This isn't a coincidence," Calliope said, her voice low.
William stood, both phones already ringing. "I need to talk to the response team. I need to call security. This can't be happening—"
"It is," Sebastian said, and for once, there was no fire in his tone. Just cold.
The room fell still except for the static murmur of the television.
"Two bombings," he said quietly. "In two weeks. And all we have is silence. No ransom notes. No manifestos. No suspects."
He looked at his children. First William, then Calliope.
"One of you needs to fix this."
William hesitated. "We're doing everything—"
"No," Sebastian interrupted. "You're containing. I need action."
He turned back to the map on the wall, the network of power they'd spent decades building. Someone was slicing at the edges.
"Find whoever's doing this," he said. "Before the whole damn empire burns."