Chapter 4 - Sabotage in the Snow
Chapter 4 - Sabotage in the Snow
The victory in the boardroom was short-lived. Alexander’s lawyers needed time to untangle the fraudulent sale, leaving us in a tense standoff where we effectively co-owned the lodge. Thomas was suspended, pending a police investigation, but he hadn't left the mountain. A massive blizzard had rolled in, grounding all flights and blocking the mountain pass. We were completely cut off from the world.
That evening, the lodge was supposed to host the annual 'Winter Wonderland Gala' for our most elite guests. At exactly 7:00 PM, just as the string quartet began to play in the grand ballroom, the lights flickered and died. A second later, the hum of the central heating ground to a halt.
Panic rippled through the darkness. Wealthy guests began to shout.
I turned on my phone’s flashlight, my mind racing. The backup generators should have kicked in automatically. I ran toward the basement utility rooms, my heels clicking frantically against the hardwood floors. When I pushed open the heavy steel door of the generator room, the smell of diesel and smoke hit me. The main fuel line had been severed. This was no accident. It was sabotage. Thomas.
"You shouldn't be down here alone," a deep voice echoed from the shadows.
I spun around to see Alexander Vance stepping into the light of my phone. He had taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
"Thomas cut the line," I said, my voice shaking with a mix of rage and freezing cold. "Without heat, it’s going to be minus twenty in the lodge by midnight. We have three hundred guests. They could freeze."
"Then we don't let them freeze," Alexander said, moving past me. He knelt by the generator, inspecting the cut. "I need duct tape, a rubber hose, and a pair of pliers. Go to the maintenance shed. I’ll try to bypass the severed section."
"You know how to fix a commercial generator?" I asked, bewildered. Wall Street billionaires didn't fix engines.
"I didn't grow up in a penthouse, Elena," he said, not looking up. "Move. Now."
We worked together for an hour in the freezing dark. My hands were numb, blistered by the cold metal, but Alexander didn't stop. Every time I shined the light on him, I saw the fierce determination in his jaw. We weren't enemies in that basement; we were a team fighting for survival.
When the generator finally roared to life and the lights flickered back on, we collapsed against the concrete wall, breathless and covered in grease. Alexander looked at me, my hair ruined, my designer dress stained with oil. Slowly, he reached out and wiped a smudge of grease from my cheek with his thumb. The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to my heart.
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"Not bad, heiress," he whispered.
"We need to get back to the guests," I breathed, my heart hammering against my ribs for reasons entirely unrelated to the cold.
