Chapter 6
SIX
M orning light spilled across Enchanted Falls, gilding the mist that perpetually shrouded the town’s namesake waterfall. In the heart of the business district, sunbeams struck the gleaming glass facade of Maxen Enterprises headquarters, transforming the twenty-story building into a beacon of prosperity amid the otherwise quaint township.
Artair Maxen eased his charcoal-black Aston Martin into his reserved parking space, a subtle frown creasing his brow as he spotted a small dent on the rear bumper of his CFO’s Mercedes. Parking lot damage—trivial in the grand scheme of his corporate empire, yet bothersome in its carelessness. He made a mental note to have security review the surveillance footage. Such minor infractions often betrayed larger issues of negligence.
As he stepped out of his vehicle, the familiar weight of responsibility settled across his broad shoulders. The tailored navy suit he wore—hand-stitched by a wolf shifter tailor whose family had served the Maxens for generations—concealed the powerful build beneath. No hint of the bear that slumbered within his human form showed in his meticulously groomed appearance, save perhaps for the unusual breadth of his shoulders and the dark intensity of his gaze.
“Morning, Mr. Maxen,” Charlie greeted from his post at the main entrance. The doorman—a badger shifter well into his sixties—stood a little straighter as Artair approached. “Beautiful day, sir.”
“Charlie.” Artair nodded, observing the slight but involuntary bow of Charlie’s head—the instinctive deference most showed to an alpha predator. “How’s Marion’s arthritis? The herbal compress helping?”
Surprise flickered across the doorman’s weathered face. “Right as rain now, sir. She says Elder Willow’s remedy worked wonders. Very kind of you to remember.”
Artair merely nodded again, unwilling to acknowledge the small spark of satisfaction that came from Charlie’s reaction. He remembered everything about his employees—their families, their troubles, their triumphs. Not from any particular benevolence, but because information equaled advantage, and survival required advantage. That the information occasionally allowed him to improve their circumstances was a secondary benefit.
“I heard whispers about another break-in at one of your properties,” Charlie added, his voice dropping to a murmur as he held the door. “Over on Crescent Hill this time.”
Artair’s expression didn’t change, though his bear stirred within, irritated at the territorial violation. “When did word reach you?”
“My nephew works the night shift at Sunrise Diner. Said a couple of wolf shifters from the security company came in around four this morning, talking about strange magic traces at the old observatory.”
“I appreciate the heads-up.” Artair reached into his jacket and produced an envelope. “Your granddaughter’s college tuition, as promised. Second semester.”
Charlie’s eyes widened. “Mr. Maxen, I can’t?—”
“She earned the scholarship, Charlie. The Maxen Foundation rewards academic excellence.” Artair placed the envelope in the doorman’s hand, brooking no argument. “My grandfather would have approved.”
Before Charlie could protest further, Artair strode into the lobby. Glass, marble, and polished brass surrounded him—an environment designed to impress, to intimidate, to declare the Maxen family’s permanence in Enchanted Falls. Conversations quieted as he passed, employees and visitors alike tracking his movement with cautious eyes.
The private executive elevator responded to his presence without requiring a key card or code—the security system recognized his unique magical signature. As the doors slid closed, Artair allowed himself a moment of stillness, the mask of corporate authority softening briefly into something more contemplative. Three more break-ins within a month, all targeting properties with historical significance to the bear clan.
It couldn’t be coincidence.
The elevator deposited him directly into the executive suite where his assistant, Meredith, waited with her usual brisk efficiency. A hawk shifter in her mid-forties, she possessed both the sharp vision and unflappable composure of her avian counterpart.
“The board assembles in twenty minutes,” she informed him, falling into step beside him. “Your sister called twice already this morning. Something about your grandmother’s dinner plans tonight requiring ‘strategic intervention.’“ She handed him a steaming mug that smelled of rich coffee laced with a hint of honey. “And Mr. Hargrove arrived with three legal advisors.”