Days blurred into a relentless cycle. Panic still threatened to seize Iris, but a colder, sharper determination had taken root. Alistair's calculated attack had left Petal & Root reeling, the headlines screaming 'scandal' and 'shady origins'. She needed answers, and fast. The pristine family history, the one her grandfather had recited like scripture, now felt like a fragile, painted screen. It was time to peel back the layers. First, she delved into the company's digitized archives. Years of annual reports, board meeting minutes, and press releases scrolled across her screen. Everything looked perfectly legitimate on the surface. Her great-grandfather, Elias Vance, was hailed as a visionary, a man who built an empire from nothing but sheer will and ingenuity. However, the lack of granular detail in the earliest records struck her as odd. Major decisions were vaguely attributed. Key financial milestones lacked the usual meticulous breakdowns. It was like reading a story with half the pages missing, or deliberately torn out. Venturing into the physical archives, she found herself in a dusty, temperature-controlled room beneath the main corporate tower. Rows of leather-bound ledgers and brittle files lined the shelves. The air smelled of aged paper and forgotten secrets. She pulled boxes labeled 'Early Founding Documents'. Yellowed newspaper clippings, faded blueprints for the first greenhouse, and correspondence between Elias and his early associates filled the containers. She meticulously cross-referenced dates, names, and events. An unsettling pattern emerged. Certain periods of the company's early years were remarkably opaque. Specific investors mentioned in later documents were completely absent from initial records. Key transactions seemed to appear out of nowhere, fully formed, without prior discussion or negotiation trails. Pushing aside a heavy ledger, Iris felt a prickle on the back of her neck. She straightened, her gaze drawn to the archives' security camera. For a fleeting second, she imagined Alistair watching. His presence felt like a constant, unseen pressure, even in the quiet solitude of the archives. She dismissed it as paranoia. Yet, the thought lingered, a cold whisper of his pervasive influence. Back at her office, she continued her research. Online historical databases, regional business journals from the era, even old genealogical records of the Vance family. She searched for any mention of early challenges, rivalries, or unexpected windfalls that might explain the gaps. Her family's narrative depicted Elias Vance as a solitary genius, bootstrapping Petal & Root into existence. But the more she dug, the more the idea of a single, unaided founder seemed like a carefully crafted myth. Days bled into a blur of documents and cold coffee. She often forgot to eat, driven by a gnawing suspicion. The pristine origin story of Petal & Root, the one she'd grown up believing, was slowly, painfully unraveling. Each inconsistency, each missing piece, chipped away at the foundation of her identity. Walking through the executive corridors, Iris noticed him. Alistair stood by the large bay windows overlooking the city, a phone pressed to his ear. He was talking, but his eyes, sharp and dark, were fixed on her. His expression was utterly unreadable, a blank mask that betrayed nothing. She met his gaze for a moment, a jolt of icy awareness passing between them. Then, he subtly inclined his head, a gesture that could have been a nod, or a challenge, or merely an acknowledgment. He turned back to his call, breaking the silent communication. Her heart hammered. He knew. He absolutely knew what she was doing. He was waiting for her to find it, perhaps even guiding her towards the truth he already possessed. That night, unable to sleep, she returned to the family estate. Not the official archives, but her grandfather's study, untouched since his passing. She knew he had kept some personal records there, things too sentimental for corporate storage. Perhaps he'd held onto secrets too. Dust motes danced in the moonlight filtering through the heavy curtains. She opened an old mahogany cabinet, filled with leather-bound photo albums and a few worn boxes tied with string. Most were filled with innocuous mementos – childhood drawings, old report cards, vacation pictures. At the bottom of one box, beneath a stack of her grandmother's pressed flowers, she found a small, unmarked wooden frame. The glass was clouded with age, the silver tarnished. Carefully, she wiped it clean. Inside, a faded sepia photograph showed a group of men standing in front of what looked like the very first Petal & Root greenhouse. Elias Vance, younger and stern, stood in the center, a faint smile playing on his lips. Beside him, a man she didn't recognize. Tall, with a severe face and piercing eyes, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that spoke of old money and undeniable power. He held himself with an air of quiet authority that overshadowed even Elias. She flipped the frame over, her fingers trembling. Scrawled on the back in her great-grandfather's elegant, looping hand were two words, dated clearly: *1932. Mr. Thorne*. Her breath caught. The pieces slammed together with a sickening crunch. The irregularities. The missing details. The carefully constructed lie. It all pointed to this moment, to this man, to Alistair's family. Her family's pristine origin was a fabrication, built on a foundation she was only now beginning to comprehend.

Chapter 17: The Unreadable Gaze