Chapter 12 - The Reckoning at the Manor
Three days later, the rain had cleared, leaving the coastal cliffs of the Alistair ancestral manor shrouded in a crisp, morning mist. The grand estate, which had stood for over two centuries, was eerily quiet. The media vans camped at the outer gates were held back by private security loyal solely to Julian.
Inside the grand library, Julian sat behind his late father's mahogany desk. He had discarded his torn wedding tuxedo for a tailored black suit. Across from him sat Lyra—now legally recognized by federal court order as Clara Alistair. She wore a simple dark dress, her demeanor quiet but composed.
The news on the muted television screen in the corner flashed headline after headline: STERLING GROUP COLLAPSES UNDER TREASON CHARGES. HUNDREDS ARRESTED IN CROSS-BORDER TRAFFICKING RING.
"The legal team finished reviewing father's true will," Julian said, breaking the silence. He slid a thick stack of embossed parchment across the desk toward her. "Everything he possessed—the lands, the ancestral trust, the family seat—was split equally between the two of us. You are officially co-head of the Alistair estate."
Clara looked down at the papers, her fingers lightly tracing the Alistair crest embossed in gold foil at the top of the page—the same crown that had been sewn into her baby blanket.
"I spent my whole life worrying about rent, Julian," she said softly, looking up at him. "Three weeks ago, I couldn't afford to pay my mother's medical bills. Now I own half an empire built on secrets and blood."
"You don't have to carry the sins of this family alone," Julian replied, leaning forward and resting his hand over hers. "We rebuild it together. Cleanly. No backroom deals, no syndicates."
The double doors of the library swung open, and Marcus walked in, his arm bound in a clean medical sling. He held a leather-bound courier satchel under his good arm.
"The federal prosecutors just finished the initial interrogation of Victoria," Marcus reported, his expression unusually grim.
Julian sat up straight. "Did she give up her financial backers?"
"Not willingly," Marcus said, placing a locked digital drive on the desk. "The feds breached Victoria’s private offshore safe in Zurich. They recovered the original contract from twenty-one years ago. The contract that ordered the nursery fire."
Clara’s gaze locked onto the drive. "Whose name was on it?"
Marcus took a deep breath, looking between Julian and Clara with evident hesitation. "It wasn't Victoria’s father. And it wasn't the Sterling Group."
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Julian felt a familiar knot of cold dread twist in his stomach. "Marcus. Whose name was on the assassination order?"
Marcus looked directly into Julian’s eyes. "Your mother. Duchess Eleanor Alistair."
