Chapter 4: Scars and Bloodlines
John stepped into the moonlight, the ambient glow highlighting the intricate ink on his skin—memorials and scars of a life lived hard on the asphalt. He looked at the leather journal in Clara’s hand, a bitter smirk touching the corner of his trimmed beard.
"That book holds every lie my father ever told," John said, walking over to the bookshelf and running a calloused finger over the spines. "And every truth he tried to lock away."
"He called your name tonight, John," Clara whispered, stepping closer. "Before Nora intervened. Why did you leave? The staff whispers that you were just a delinquent son who broke your father's heart."
John let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "A delinquent? Maybe. But I didn't break his heart—Nora and her corporate syndicate broke his empire, and when I tried to expose them, they painted me as the monster so I’d have to run." He turned to face her, his hazel eyes gleaming with suppressed anguish. "They drove me out when I was twenty, and they replaced my birthright with a stack of forged contracts."
Clara felt a chill run down her spine. The sophisticated, charitable facade of Nora crumbled in her mind, replaced by a picture of cold greed. "If Arthur still remembers you, there has to be a legal copy of the original will. Something that predates Nora's control."
May you like
"That’s why I came back," John said, balling his hands into fists. "To find it before they wipe his memory completely."
---
