The next morning, William sat on the floor of the Queens apartment, Leo playing with blocks at his feet. Victoria turned on the small television set, her face pale.
“William,” she said softly. “You need to see this.”
Breaking news footage showed a wrecking ball swinging into the glass dome of the Vance Conservatory. The structure, which William had built to honor the music that brought Victoria back to him–and which Sophie had helped perfect acoustically–shattered into a million diamonds of falling glass.
On the screen, Alistair Croft stood in a hard hat, speaking to reporters. “We are liquidating underperforming assets to streamline the company. The Conservatory was a vanity project. Croft Enterprises is about power, not piano lessons.”
William watched as the bulldozer crushed the Steinway grand piano in the lobby. He didn’t scream. He didn’t throw things. He just watched his father erase the last vestige of softness from the Croft name, systematically destroying the “soft assets” to prepare for total war.
“He wants you to react,” Victoria whispered, gripping his shoulder.
“I know,” William replied, his eyes dry and hard. “He wants me to burn. But I’m done burning.”