Chapter two: The pressure Gauge

The rain had eased to a cold, persistent drizzle by the time Clara reached her building in Islington. She lived on the third floor of an older brick conversion a modest one-bedroom flat with creaking floorboards and drafty sash windows, but it was entirely her own. Every item inside, from the secondhand armchair by the radiator to the small set of cooking pots, had been paid for with her own hard-earned wages.

She hung her damp trench coat in the narrow hallway and set her briefcase on the kitchen table, exhaling deeply as the silence of the flat settled around her. It was always a relief to lock the world out.

Clara poured a glass of tap water, pulled up a chair, and opened her notebook to review the figures for her eight-o'clock meeting. But before her pen could touch the paper, three heavy, deliberate knocks rattled the front door.

Clara froze, her pulse taking a sudden, uncomfortable leap. Nobody visited her unannounced, especially not at half-past nine on a rainy Tuesday evening.

The knocking returned, louder this time, followed by the dull thud of a boot against the lower wooden panel.

"Clara! Open the door. We know you're in there."

It was Dominic.

Clara stood up slowly, keeping her footsteps light as she approached the door. She slid the security chain into its brass slot before turning the latch and pulling the door open a mere two inches.

Dominic stood in the dim light of the communal hallway, shaking rain from his dark hair. His jacket was damp, and his jaw was set in a sharp, impatient line. Standing half a step behind him, shoulder pressed lazily against the wall, was Gabriel.

"What are you doing here?" Clara asked, her voice low and tight. "It's late."

"You didn't answer my text," Dominic said, leaning forward so his face filled the narrow gap. "So we came to get an answer in person."

"I told you last week, Dominic. I don't have money to give you. My rent is due at the end of the week, and my bills are higher this month."

Dominic let out a dry, humorless laugh, turning his head slightly to look at Gabriel. "Listen to her. Bills to pay. She acts like she's the only one in this family with adult problems." He turned back to Clara, his tone dropping into something far colder. "Look, Clara, it's simple. Gabriel and I need five hundred pounds by tomorrow noon. Put it into my account, or give us the cash now. You get paid well enough at that fancy firm."

"No," Clara said, staring him straight in the eye despite the knot forming in her stomach. "I work forty-five hours a week for my salary, Dominic. You and Gabriel haven't held down a job since Christmas. I am not funding your life anymore."

Gabriel pushed off the wall and stepped up beside Dominic, resting his hand against the doorframe. He was two years younger than Dominic, but he shared the same sharp, calculating eyes as their mother.

"You think you're safe tucked away up here, don't you?" Gabriel said softly, his voice carrying a subtle, venomous edge. "You put on your clean suits and walk around the City like you're somebody else. But your surname is still Vance, Clara. The moment the partners at Sterling & Cross find out what Mum actually does for a living, what Beatrice and Charlotte do down at the clubs, do you really think they’ll keep you sitting at those shiny desks?"

The threat hung heavy in the narrow hallway. Clara felt the blood drain from her cheeks, but she refused to step back or let her voice tremble.

"Get out of my hallway," she said evenly. "If you knock on this door again tonight, I’m calling the landlord and the police."

Dominic sneered, taking a half-step back and clapping Gabriel on the shoulder. "We're going. For tonight. But don't forget what Gabriel said, Clara. You rely heavily on that pristine reputation of yours. It would be a real shame if someone ruined it for you."

They turned and walked down the stairwell, their heavy boots echoing against the concrete steps until the main building door slammed shut below.

Clara clicked the door shut, slid all three deadbolts into place, and rested her forehead against the cool wood. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. She had always known her brothers were ruthless, but hearing the threat spoken out loud made her stomach turn. They knew exactly where to press to make her bleed.

She walked back to the kitchen, opened her bank book, and looked at the numbers line by line. She was close! so close to having enough saved for a proper deposit on a flat outside London, somewhere far enough that they couldn't simply turn up on her doorstep. She just needed a few more months of quiet work.

Just a few more months of keeping her head down and holding the line.