Chapter 13: The Counter-Strike
The information Alyssa provided was a lifeline thrown into a raging sea. Julian didn't waste time questioning her motives; desperation and survival instincts overrode his skepticism. If his father’s estate trust truly held the subsidiary shares, he had the legal leverage to break his mother’s financial chokehold.
"Where are the physical documents?" Julian asked urgently, grabbing Alyssa lightly by the forearm.
"They're not in the study," Alyssa whispered, glancing toward the grand staircase. "Eleanor keeps the physical trust deed and the safety deposit key in her private wall safe, hidden behind the oil painting in the master bedroom upstairs. She’s attending a private luncheon with the board members at the country club until two o'clock. The house is virtually empty except for the domestic staff."
Julian checked his watch. It was barely ten in the morning. He had a narrow window of opportunity.
"If I'm caught, I'm facing criminal trespass and theft charges," Julian noted grimly.
"Then don't get caught," Alyssa replied evenly, stepping back into the shadow of the parlor. "And if anyone asks, I was in the west wing reviewing tax documents all morning."
Without another word, Julian turned and sprinted up the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time. His heart hammered against his ribs as he navigated the familiar hallways of his childhood home—a house that had always felt more like a museum than a home. He reached the master bedroom doors, pushing them open cautiously.
The room smelled of Eleanor’s expensive lavender perfume. Julian walked straight to the large, gilded oil painting of his grandfather that dominated the far wall. Grabbing the heavy wooden frame, he swung it outward on its hidden hinges, revealing a heavy digital wall safe recessed into the plaster.
Julian’s fingers hovered over the keypad. He knew his mother’s habits. She didn't use random combinations; she used dates of corporate milestones. He punched in the date of the Sterling Group’s initial public offering.
BEEP. The small digital screen flashed red. Incorrect.
Julian cursed under his breath, wiping sweat from his forehead. He tried his father’s birthday.
BEEP. Red again.
He had one more guess before the security system would lock down and alert the private security firm. Julian closed his eyes, taking a slow breath. He remembered the day his father had taken him out onto the yacht, telling him that family was the only true wealth worth protecting. The anniversary of that day.
He punched in the numbers.
CLICK.
The digital screen flashed green, and the heavy steel door of the safe swung open smoothly. Julian didn't hesitate. He reached inside, pushing past velvet jewelry boxes and stock portfolios, until his fingers brushed against a thick, leather-bound folder labeled Estate Trust Deed: Secondary Holdings.
He pulled it out, flipping through the pages until he spotted the signature line bearing his late father's seal and the designated co-executor clause. It was genuine.
May you like
Suddenly, a sharp cough echoed from the doorway of the bedroom.
Julian spun around, clutching the folder tightly to his chest. Standing in the doorway was Mrs. Gable, the elderly head housekeeper, holding a basket of fresh linens. Her eyes widened in shock as she took in the open safe and Julian standing before it.
