Chapter 18
ALARIC ARRIVED LATE. He didn’t give a damn. Apparently, his brothers did.
The conference room at Severin was already occupied when he entered.
Magnus stood near the table, jacket off, sleeves rolled, jaw set with barely contained impatience.
Leif sat at the head, composed as ever, hands folded, attention tracking everything without comment.
A third man stood near the wall, neutral suit, neutral expression, a leather case in his hand. The legal executor.
Magnus turned the moment Alaric crossed the threshold. “Nice of you to join us.”
Alaric didn’t break stride. He took his seat, set his phone on the table, and looked up. “I said I’d come.”
“You said you’d come when you were damn ready.”
“I’m damn ready.”
Magnus opened his mouth again, irritation flaring sharp and fast. “You don’t get to decide when—”
Leif lifted a hand.
Magnus cut himself off, scowling.
Leif’s gaze stayed on Alaric. “You were delayed.”
Alaric didn’t answer. He simply raised his hand, palm out, the lightning-bolt Brand stark against his skin.
Leif looked at it for a long moment. Then he nodded once. “Good enough.”
That was the end of it.
The legal executor cleared his throat. “Gentlemen. As per succession protocol, independent genetic verification was conducted following Bjorn Severin’s death.
Chain of custody has been maintained. Two identical certified packets of the results have been prepared.
” He set one envelope on the table in front of the brothers, then turned and handed the second to Vidar Severin, who’d entered without a sound.
Alaric caught his entrance anyway, a subtle pressure shift in the room that made his instincts lift and catalog the threat before his eyes confirmed it.
Vidar’s perfectly tailored suit. Immaculate lines.
Every detail coordinated, down to the precise knot of his tie.
His expression was solemn enough to pass for respect, but his expression betrayed him—too bright, too alert, with a sharp, anticipatory focus that had nothing to do with grief.
He took the envelope the executor offered with a thin smile.
“The contents are sealed originals,” the executor continued. “You are free to review them at your discretion. I’ll step out.” He did, the door closing quietly behind him.
For a moment, no one moved.
Vidar broke the silence with a short laugh. He glanced at the packet in his hand, then tossed it onto the table as if it were a menu he didn’t intend to read. “All this,” he said mildly. “For something that was never in doubt.”
He straightened, squaring his shoulders, the movement subtle. “My mother was married to Bjorn before yours ever was.”
Magnus went utterly still, as if the room had been pulled tight around him. Leif’s eyes flicked to Alaric for a fraction of a second, then back to Vidar, expression unreadable.
Vidar continued, voice smooth, certain. “They were married legally. Publicly. That makes me the eldest son. Which means Severin’s answers to me now.” His attention moved from Magnus to Leif, then settled on Alaric. “You always were good soldiers. I assume that won’t change.”
Magnus stiffened, the tendons in his neck standing out as his shoulders locked. His hands flexed once at his sides before he forced them still, restraint snapping tight around him.
Alaric didn’t react at all. No shift of posture. No stiffening. He remained exactly as he was, the stillness deliberate, as if Vidar weren’t worth the expenditure of movement.
Vidar’s attention swept the room, slow and proprietary, lingering on Alaric a fraction too long. “You look surprised,” he said, mild curiosity threading his tone. “I assumed you would have already accepted reality.”
Leif’s expression didn’t change. He neither leaned forward nor back. “Reality tends to arrive whether we accept it or not.”
Vidar smiled again, the expression smooth and practiced, confidence settling more firmly into his stance as if Leif’s calm were confirmation rather than warning. “Then let’s not waste time.”
“No,” Alaric said. His voice was even. Flat. It cut through the room without effort. “Let’s not.”
Vidar’s smile faltered, just enough to register. His eyes sharpened, reassessing, irritation slipping through the cracks of his composure. “You’re unusually quiet.”
Alaric leaned back in his chair, one ankle crossing over his knee, posture loose in a way that wasn’t casual at all. “I’m listening.”
Vidar’s expression tightened. “To what?”
Alaric lifted his gaze at last, pale stare steady, unblinking. “To what you think you’ve already won.”
The air in the room shifted, tension tightening like a wire pulled too far.
Vidar straightened, irritation flashing. “This didn’t require theatrics. My place in this family was never in question. I was always Bjorn’s heir.”
“Were you?” Magnus asked.
Vidar turned on him, irritation sharpening into something colder.
“Don’t pretend this is a shock. This is what succession looks like when sentiment stops running the room.
” His gaze flicked, dismissive. “Like Rebecca and Sera, for example. There’s too much sentiment hanging over them, especially since Rebecca was an exposure.
And Sera still is an exposure.” His mouth curved, thin and decisive.
“In my world, exposures get dealt with. Permanently.”
No one spoke. The words seemed to settle into the room, heavy and ugly, like something that shouldn’t have been said aloud. Magnus’s teeth clenched, a muscle ticking once as he stared at the table. Leif didn’t move at all, his stillness absolute.
Alaric’s posture didn’t change. Something in him did.
“You’re blaming them,” Leif said carefully. “For what?”
“I’m stating facts,” Vidar replied. “They were weak points. Easy to manipulate. Easy to use against Severin’s.” His gaze was cold now, clinical. “That made them a danger to this family.”
“Enough,” Magnus snapped.
Vidar waved him off. “You can posture all you want. The outcome doesn’t change.” He flicked a finger toward the unopened packet in front of the brothers. “You’ll see.”
Alaric spoke without raising his voice. “You’re not Bjorn’s son.”
The room went silent.
Vidar laughed in genuine amusement. “That’s desperate.”
“You never were,” Magnus added.
Vidar’s laughter cut off. “You think you can say it and make it true?”
Leif folded his hands. “We’re saying it because it is true.”
Vidar stared at them, then snatched the packet off the table. “This is bullshit.” He ripped it open, papers scattering as he scanned the contents. His face drained of color. Then flushed. Rage cracked through him. ”No,” he snarled. “No. This is wrong.”
“I’m guessing our suspicion has just been confirmed,” Leif stated.
Vidar’s hands shook as he looked up. “It was pointless,” he spat. “All of it.”
“What was?” Alaric asked.
Vidar’s mouth twisted. “The file. Rebecca. Bjorn.”
For an instant, the room froze. Alaric didn’t react outwardly, but the sequence locked in his mind with cold clarity. File meant motive for erasing the truth. Rebecca meant method—how problems were removed. Bjorn meant outcome. There was no version of that list that ended any other way.
“Say that again,” Magnus said softly.
Vidar went white. The color drained from his face so fast it was startling, his expression turning frantic as he realized—too late—that he’d said one thing too many.
He tugged at his tie as if it were suddenly choking him, breath coming harder, beads of sweat breaking along his hairline and tracking down the edges of his face.
“I didn’t kill him,” he insisted.
Alaric didn’t move. “We didn’t say you did.”
Vidar’s breath hitched. His focus darted, wild now.
“You can’t put this on me. Rebecca’s fall was convenient.
” The word landed with care. “Accidents happen.” His gaze slid toward Alaric, calculating.
“And if Sera continues to be a problem,” he added coolly, “she won’t remain one.
I’ve already shown how easily accidents can be arranged. ”“
Leif stood. “You acted.”
“I protected this family,” Vidar shouted.
“You murdered its head,” Magnus said. His voice was low, stripped of heat, but the words carried everything Vidar had just admitted. Not just Bjorn. The planned wreck. The attempt to take Alaric and Sera off the board in one violent stroke. This wasn’t damage control. It was execution.
Silence followed.
Leif looked at his brothers. He didn’t speak. Magnus didn’t either, his restraint tight and contained, like something held behind his teeth. Alaric said nothing at all, his stillness absolute. For a beat, the substance of what had just been revealed hung in the room, heavy and absolute.
“Erasure,” Leif said at last.
Magnus didn’t answer immediately. His mouth worked once, hard, as he stared at the space where Vidar stood, every muscle in his body coiled tight, fighting the raw, violent urge to cross the room and end the bastard with his bare hands. Then he nodded. “Erasure.”
Alaric had no hesitation. No pull. No doubt. “Erasure.”
The word settled, final as a door sealing.
Vidar let out a broken laugh as security moved in, hands closing on his arms. “You can’t do this.”
Leif’s voice was calm, unyielding. “We already have.”
Vidar twisted violently against the guards, anguish cutting through his fury. “If I’m erased, she should be too.” He jerked his head toward the door, eyes wild. “Sera. She knew what was happening. She went along with it every step of the way. Rebecca too. They’re just as guilty.”
Alaric finally moved. He leaned forward slightly, voice low and lethal. “I suspect you erased Rebecca already.” He held Vidar’s stare without blinking. “Just like our father. But you won’t erase Sera. She’s mine and I’ll do anything and everything to protect her.”
“You think erasing me fixes this?” Vidar snarled over his shoulder, eyes burning with fury. “It doesn’t. It just proves I was right.” He was escorted out, still shouting protests that echoed briefly, then faded.