Haas looked at the Black Priory, but his eyes moved away. Sheila stepped out of the tow truck. Beside her, he walked, though his face was turned away from the old monastery. He stopped a meter from the gate, eyes now on thick boots.

Sheila sighed, but a knot had formed in her stomach at the Black Priory’s visage. “I can make it the rest of the way,” she said in her best professional tone. Haas was to get her car and all.

“OH, I can escort you the rest of the way,” a cool voice offered.

Haas jerked, whirled, “Miss Van Lear, you gave me a start.” He towered over the thin woman.

Sheila jumped. Her eyes moved to the woman, who was too young to be the Queen of Lear Mountain. Although the other was dressed for the inclement weather, she reminded Sheila of a high price doll. “I…Miss Van Lear,” she forced a smile, but saw no other vehicle, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Miss Richardson,” she smiled, but eyes dissected, “I’ve been trying to reach you. The cell service throughout the county is spotty, at best.” She delivered the words in a smooth, Southern Aristocratic tone. “I’ll consider that was the reason for you missing my calls,” she said, and turned to the much larger man, who had removed his trucker cap. “Warren Haas, stalwart in your duties as always,” she inclined her head.

“Miss Van Lear,” she shuffled his feet, “it is dangerous out here.” Haas looked about, swallowed, “I don’t want to see you catch your death of cold.”

“Thank you for your concern, Warren,” she smiled, “may I call you Warren?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he smiled though blushed.

“I need to speak to Miss Richardson, so I’ll see you later,” she looked to Sheila. “And, Warren, there is no need to call the Sheriff about the wreck. Call Barnett, tell him that I told you to ask about compensation.” She turned to Haas, “You’re very devoted to come in such weather, and he’ll reward you properly.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Haas backed up, put his hat back on, before he tipped it. After a single glance at the Priory, face ashen, he retreated to his truck.

She watched his lights disappear, “Miss Richardson, I’m Alice Van Lear, but you will refer to me as Miss Van Lear.”

Sheila bristled. The other woman was smaller, more delicate, but held herself like a noblewoman. “Well,” she smirked, “you will call me Miss Richardson.” Great, she groaned, a pretentious Hillbilly.

“I will refer to you as I please,” Alice countered, “and you will wipe that supercilious smirk off your face.”

She blinked, “You can’t—”

Alice held up a hand, “Have you ever seen someone scream, until their larynx burst?”

Sheila blinked, “I have not.” Rain fell to the earth, and the world shimmered in the glow cast from the Black Priory. Each breath hung on the air. The constant beat of the storm was relentless. Bile was bitter at the back of the throat. Eyes of the Princess of Lear Mountain cut though her with the dispassion of an undertaker.

Alice smirked, “I will be plain.” She brushed off an ice that had built up on her shoulder. It snapped, when it hit the ground, with a brittle crack. “It has come to our knowledge that there have been some acts of impropriety,” she spoke evenly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, voice professional and distant.

“I mean the women Brian abused,” Alice countered, tone smooth but amused. “They came to my mother, and they were very upset.”

“It isn’t within my control,” Sheila sighed, “what adults engage in, outside of the factory.”

“So, you know any in a managerial role,” her eyes searched the Human Resource Manager’s face, “who engage in such behavior, especially on or off the clock, do so with a threat?”

“I can do nothing without explicit evidence of wrong doing,” Sheila smiled but managed to suppress the smirk. “If a bunch of low class women with loose morals use their assets to…receive certain benefits,” she shrugged, “it is an indication of their character.”

Alice’s eyebrows rose, lip curled, but her expression smoothed. “Miss Richardson, this seems to be a difference of New and Old Money,” she nodded. “The people of Lear County are my family’s responsibility. Those low class women were wronged,” she said, eyes assessed the other. “I don’t’ care about your companies policies. The moral failings of the New Money are equally insignificant, especially one of their idiot servants. Your masters are crass and ignoble.”

“Aren’t your family former slave owners,” Sheila’s face burned, despite the cold. “Didn’t they execute—“?

Alice stepped forward, and she recoiled from her. “You and Brian are done. The factory will close.” The coolness of her rage made the ice storm feel balmy. She held a hand out, as if asking Sheila to proceed, “If you are tired of living, by all means, go ahead.”

She shook her head, “You can’t—”

Again, the Princess of Lear Mountain stepped towards her. “I can,” she smirked, and cast her eyes about the Priory. “The New Money of Duncannon needs a reminder of their place and role.”

“I would appreciate it,” Sheila swallowed, “if you left my house and property.” She felt goosebumps rise. Alice talks like I’m some doll or toy.

“It isn’t your house,” she looked at the Priory, but her cool gaze moved away. “This place belongs to the family Black,” she waved a hand at the dark stones of the monastery. Eyes returned to Sheila, “You know anything of its history?”

“I know a little,” she fought the urge to retreat inside.

“You know people disappear from Black Priory,” she tilted her head.

“Yes,” she replied, and bile rose.

“You have no family, no friends,” Alice pondered aloud, “except for Tracy Chaney, who is friend to no one. She is a rat, who’ll squeal to save her own skin. Brian Weber, he is a fool, who has betrayed his family, his Blood.” She looked back to her, “There is something else, though I haven’t seen it, yet. We have business dealings with your company, and when we shut you down, I’ll personally go through everything.”