Chapter 7 - The Master Bedroom Feed
The mention of the master bedroom cameras sent an electric shock through the courtyard. Julian’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with sheer terror. The bedroom on the third floor of the Wellington Estate had been locked from the inside the night the patriarch died. Julian distinctly remembered pulling the heavy brass bolt himself after Arthur handed him the key. No cameras existed in that room—or at least, none that were connected to an external feed.
"That’s a lie," Julian choked out, taking a frantic step toward the investigator.
"The west wing was completely gutted during the renovation five years ago. There are no active surveillance lines in the private quarters."
The investigator reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, ruggedized tablet, tapping the screen twice before turning it toward the group. The display flickered to life, casting a cold blue light across their horrified faces. On the screen, a high-definition, unedited video angle from the corner of the master bedroom showed the large mahogany bed, the flickering bedside lamp, and the unmistakable figure of Arthur Pendelton standing directly over the sleeping old man with a small glass dropper.
Elena stopped crying instantly. Her mouth fell open as she stared at the tablet, her dark eyes darting from the screen to Arthur’s motionless face.
"My god," Elena whispered, the color draining completely from her cheeks.
"It was never Julian."
Arthur did not flinch. He did not step back. Instead, a slow, terrifying smile spread across his lips, transforming the dignified corporate executive into a stranger of chilling malice. He casually adjusted his cuffs, his gaze fixed on the glowing screen.
"Technology has advanced remarkably over the past decade, hasn't it?" Arthur said smoothly, his voice devoid of any previous pretense of shock or surprise.
"Julian was far too clumsy to execute a clean medical extraction. He would have left fingerprints, digital footprints, and crying matches all over the mansion. Someone had to ensure the transition of power happened without destroying the stock value of the firm."
Clara let out a choked cry, pressing her hands so hard against her stomach that her knuckles turned white.
"You killed him," Clara whispered, her voice trembling with a grief so profound it seemed to steal the very air from her lungs.
"You killed my father in his own bed, while I was downstairs waiting for the doctor’s bulletin."
Marcus’s face twisted into an expression of murderous fury. He lunged forward, his hands clawing toward Arthur’s throat, but two federal agents moved with blinding speed, pinning Marcus’s arms behind his back and forcing him onto the stone patio before he could land a single blow.
"Let me go!" Marcus roared, struggling against the agents as his eyes blazed with unbridled hatred.
"I’ll rip your throat out, you cold-blooded bastard!"
Arthur calmly stepped aside, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his charcoal lapel as he looked down at the struggling Marcus with utter disdain.
"Save your theatrics, Marcus," Arthur said coolly.
"You were blackmailing the old man for three months leading up to his death, threatening to expose his offshore gambling debts unless he signed over the European distribution rights to your shell company. You wanted him dead just as much as Julian wanted his money."
Julian stood frozen, staring at Arthur as the horrifying realization of how thoroughly they had all been played settled over his mind.
"If you had the video all along," Julian whispered, his voice trembling uncontrollably, "why are you showing us now?"
Arthur turned slowly, looking past the federal agents toward the main gates as a second set of headlights appeared in the distance.
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"Because, Julian," Arthur replied softly, "the board members you invited to tonight’s gala are arriving right now, and they need to know who to blame when the estate goes into receivership."
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