Chapter 8 - The Aftermath in Harrow Falls
By sunrise, the digital shockwaves had already ripped through the financial and social pillars of Harrow Falls.
The front page of the Harrow Falls Herald didn't feature the anticipated society feature about the multi-million-dollar Burroughs-Kemp wedding. Instead, a scathing, heavily documented investigative report—leaked directly from Dylan Burroughs’s corporate legal team—detailing the systematic embezzlement, predatory guardianship scams, and real estate fraud operated by the Kemp family shell companies plastered the top fold.
By noon, federal banking regulators had frozen every asset belonging to Julian and Libby Kemp. Their townhouse in the hills was slapped with an emergency lien, and their social standing vanished into thin air faster than morning mist over the harbor.
Inside his private estate overlooking the cliffs of the northern bay, Dylan Burroughs stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his study, holding a steaming mug of black coffee.
Behind him, heavy paws clicked against the polished oak floorboards.
Max trotted into the room, moving a little stiffly with a light bandage wrapped around his flank, but his head was held high, his tail giving a slow, rhythmic wag as he approached his master’s side.
Dylan reached down, scratching the mastiff behind his graying ears. "Feeling better, old man?"
Max let out a deep, rumbling huff of approval, pressing his massive head against Dylan’s knee.
The heavy oak door of the study opened quietly, and Marcus stepped inside, holding a thick manila folder.
"Boss," Marcus said, keeping his voice professional. "The property management team just finished reviewing the staffing records at Blackwoods. As requested, I pulled the employment history for Molly Lane."
Dylan turned away from the window, taking a sip of his coffee. "And?"
"She’s twenty-four," Marcus read from the file. "Put herself through night classes at the state university studying architectural restoration while working double shifts on the floor. Fired from Blackwoods at 3:00 AM this morning by the general manager for 'causing a public disturbance'—which is corporate-speak for letting our dog bleed on their expensive flagstones."
Dylan’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Fired?"
"Yes, sir," Marcus nodded. "They even tried to withhold her final week's pay to cover the cost of cleaning the floor where she bled."
A cold, humorless smile touched Dylan’s lips. "Call the general manager of Blackwoods. Tell him that my corporate holding firm just acquired controlling interest in his commercial lease as of four minutes ago. His services are no longer required."
"And Ms. Lane?" Marcus asked, a faint hint of amusement crossing his usually stony features.
May you like
Dylan walked over to his desk, setting his coffee mug down with a soft clack. He opened a second folder resting on the polished mahogany surface—a portfolio detailing the restoration and management of the city’s historic municipal library archives, a project his foundation had been funding for two years.
"Tell her," Dylan said quietly, "that we have an opening for someone who knows how to restore things that people have thrown away."
