Chapter 4: The Devil's Ledger (2)

"Stop." Isabelle sat beside him on the bed, taking his hand. The tremor was worse than yesterday. "This isn't your fault."

"Isn't it?" His eyes—Van Estel blue, the same shade as hers—were wet. "I should have seen Chandler's instability. Should have diversified. Should have been the businessman my father was instead of the historian I wanted to be."

"You're a good man, Dad."

"Good men lose to men like Silas Stone." Arthur squeezed her hand. "That's the lesson I've learned too late."

After he'd taken his afternoon medications and drifted into exhausted sleep, Isabelle returned to the library and pulled out the red leather ledger that had arrived with Stone's contract. It was a gift and a threat simultaneously—a complete accounting of how thoroughly he owned them.

She traced the dates with one finger. The first Van Estel debt acquisition was dated fourteen months ago—one month before Chandler Investments collapsed.

Her blood went cold.

Silas Stone hadn't just taken advantage of their misfortune. He'd planned it. Destroying Chandler wasn't just about absorbing a competitor. It was phase one of trapping the Van Estels. She'd been a target before she even knew his name beyond society gossip.

The library door opened. Arthur's personal physician, Dr. Morrison, entered with the exhausted expression of a man delivering bad news he'd delivered too many times.

"How is he?" Isabelle asked.

"Medically stable. Emotionally..." Morrison removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "Miss Van Estel, your father's heart condition is entirely stress-induced. If the pressure continues at this level, we're looking at a major cardiac event within weeks. Possibly days."

"What if the stress suddenly disappeared? If the financial crisis resolved?"

"Then we'd be discussing recovery timelines instead of emergency protocols." Morrison's gaze was kind but direct. "I understand Mr. Pemberton mentioned certain... options have been presented to the family."

So even the doctor knew. Of course he did. In their world, everyone would know soon enough.

After Morrison left, Isabelle stood at the library window watching twilight paint the estate gardens in shades of loss. The fountain where she'd played as a child had stopped working months ago—no money for repairs. The rose gardens her mother had loved were overgrown. Even the house itself seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable auction block.

She thought about Leo's face in those university photos. About the future they'd planned that involved dignity, choice, and love—concepts that apparently evaporated the moment your accountant said the word "bankruptcy."

She thought about her father's trembling hands reaching for heart medication because a "friend" had been kind instead of helpful.

She thought about nineteen days.

Isabelle pulled out her phone and dialed the number on Stone Global's letterhead before she could second-guess the decision.

"Stone Global Enterprises, executive offices." The assistant's voice was professionally neutral.

"This is Isabelle Van Estel. I need to schedule a meeting with Mr. Stone."

"One moment please." The hold music was something classical and aggressive—Wagner, naturally. "Mr. Stone can see you day after tomorrow at ten AM. Shall I send a car?"

"That won't be necessary."

"Very well. Do you require any additional—"

"No." Isabelle's voice came out harder than intended. "Just the meeting."

She ended the call and returned to the window, watching darkness swallow the gardens completely.

Her reflection in the glass looked like a stranger—or perhaps like the woman she was about to become. She pulled out her grandmother's jewelry box from the library safe, removing the Van Estel wedding ring that had been in the family for four generations. The diamond was smaller than modern standards preferred, set in platinum scrollwork that spoke of craftsmanship over ostentation.

Arthur appeared in the doorway, steadier after his rest. "Your grandmother wore that ring for sixty years."

"I remember." Isabelle held it up to the lamplight, watching it catch and fracture the glow. "She used to tell me it was a symbol of legacy, not ownership."

"It still is, sweetheart."

"Is it?" Isabelle turned to face him. "Or is it just an expensive reminder that legacy without capital is just a pretty story we tell ourselves while the creditors circle?"

Arthur crossed the room slowly, pressing the ring into her palm and closing her fingers around it. "Remember who you are, Isabelle. No matter what choices you have to make. The Van Estel name is more than money. It's dignity, grace, and strength."

She wanted to tell him that dignity didn't pay mortgages. That grace didn't cure heart conditions. That strength without leverage was just the ability to endure being crushed with your spine straight.

Instead, she kissed his cheek and climbed the stairs to her childhood bedroom, where she spent two hours selecting her armor for the meeting with Silas Stone: vintage Chanel suit in ice blue, her grandmother's pearl necklace, and the expression she'd perfected o...