Chapter 3
The heavy oak doors of the Fifth Avenue townhouse closed behind them with a hollow thud. The foyer, adorned with museum-grade oil paintings and polished mahogany sideboards, felt less like a home and more like a mausoleum. Arthur walked straight past the sweeping staircase toward his ground-floor study, a room lined with leather-bound first editions and historical ledgers that documented the rise and fall of empires.
Julian and Elena followed closely behind. Once inside the study, Arthur bypassed his desk and walked directly to the antique fireplace, resting his hands upon the carved mantelpiece. He did not sit. He waited until both of them were fully inside the room before he turned around, his eyes locking onto his son with an intensity that made Julian feel like a cornered animal.
"Sit down, both of you," Arthur ordered, pointing a finger toward the two wingback chairs situated opposite the hearth.
Elena seated herself gracefully, smoothing the fabric of her blue dress, her demeanor remarkably composed for a woman whose life had just imploded publicly. Julian remained standing near the door for a moment before reluctantly taking the adjacent chair, crossing his legs and trying to project a semblance of calm that he was entirely lacking.
"Julian," Arthur began, his voice dangerously low. "When I handed you the presidency of Vance Global Logistics, I did so believing you possessed the discipline required to protect this family's legacy. Power attracts parasites, yes, but it also exposes internal rot. That blonde woman in the portrait—do you even remember her name?"
Julian looked down at his polished leather shoes. "Her name is Clara Vance. Or at least, she was a distant cousin through the Vermont branch before her family was bought out of the shipping syndicate years ago."
Elena gasped softly, her head snapping toward her husband. "Cousin? You had an affair with a blood relative? God in heaven, Julian, how deep does the sickness go?"
"It wasn't an affair in the way you're imagining," Julian snapped defensively, his temper finally fraying. "It happened during the darkest period of our separation two years ago, long before we formalized our engagement, and it was engineered from the very beginning. Clara didn't just happen to be in that bed; she was placed there by someone who wanted leverage over me when I pushed for the restructuring of the European assets."
May you like
Arthur narrowed his eyes, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Leverage. You assume enemies outside the family, Julian, but you are blind to the wolves sitting at your own table. Who else knew about that Vermont property? Only three people outside of Clara herself had the keys to that lodge: you, me, and your sister Beatrice."
The room fell dead silent. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly, marking the seconds like a metronome of doom. Julian stared at his father, the color draining from his face as the terrifying implications of Arthur’s words began to take root in his mind.
