Chapter 4: The Ghost of Nicholas
The words struck Julian harder than any physical blow.
Nicholas.
His older brother had supposedly perished three years ago when his yacht caught fire off the coast of Bermuda. The family had held a memorial service, buried an empty mahogany casket in the family plot, and spent eighteen months navigating the bitter probate litigation that followed. Nicholas had always been the golden child—the polished, Harvard-educated heir who hid a devastating gambling addiction beneath bespoke suits and a charm that disarmed regulatory boards.
Julian had spent the last three years cleaning up Nicholas's wreckage, paying off private creditors, and stabilizing Blackwood Industries to prevent hundreds of working-class shipyard employees from losing their pensions.
"Nicholas is dead, Dad," Julian said softly, though a knot of cold suspicion twisted in his gut. "We identified the wreckage."
"We identified... a watch," Arthur rasped, his fingers tightening on Julian's wrist with surprising strength. "A charred watch, Julian. I told you then... he was too clever to drown."
Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside. Julian stood up, stepping between his father's bed and the doorway, his hands balling into fists.
It was Walter. The butler carried a glass of water and a silver tray containing a clean syringe of atropine. His expression remained entirely composed, devoid of the panic that should have accompanied an assassin in the house.
"Mr. Julian," Walter said, stepping into the room. "I have secured the outer perimeter gates. However, the external landlines appear to be severed, and the cell phone repeater on the water tower is inactive."
"Who had access to the armory code, Walter?" Julian asked, his voice dropping dangerously low.
Walter stopped two paces away, setting the silver tray on the dresser. "Only three people have ever held that code, sir. Your father, yourself, and Mr. Nicholas."
"Did you let him in?"
Walter met Julian's gaze without blinking. "I have served this family for thirty-four years, Mr. Julian. I served your grandfather before you. My loyalty is to the preservation of this house, not to the ambition of individuals. If Nicholas were alive, he would be the rightful master of this estate."
"Nicholas is a thief who nearly bankrupted three thousand families in Portland," Julian snarled, taking a step toward the older man. "Did you put the oil on the stairs?"
"I did not," Walter said, his voice dropping into quiet, solemn dignity. "I may believe in birthright, Julian, but I do not poison sick old men, nor do I murder young women who have treated your father with more tenderness than his own blood ever managed."
May you like
Walter reached into his breast pocket. Julian tensed, ready to strike, but the butler merely produced a heavy iron skeleton key and laid it on the tray.
"The master override for the utility tunnel beneath the wine cellar," Walter said. "If you wish to get Nurse Evans and your father to a hospital before the toxin in his IV takes effect, that tunnel leads to the boathouse. The launch is fueled. But you must move quickly. Nicholas is not alone."
