Chapter 4
The leather folder lay on the cold marble floor like an unexploded bomb. No one in the grand ballroom dared to reach down and pick it up. The silver crest of the late Arthur Vanguard—Elena’s father and the original founder of the philanthropic empire—shone faintly under the dimming chandelier lights.
Elena stared at the emblem, memories of her father’s stern yet loving face flooding her mind. He had died under mysterious circumstances three years ago, an event officially ruled as a tragic accidental drowning at his private coastal estate. At the time, Beatrice had wept openly, clad in deep mourning, receiving the condolences of the city’s elite with heartbreaking grace. But looking at the cold, calculating smile currently playing on Beatrice’s lips, Elena felt a sudden, sickening twist in her stomach.
"Where did you get that?" Elena whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the electronic ventilation system. She looked away from the folder and locked her eyes onto Julian. "That was locked inside my father’s private vault. Only family and... and authorized legal representatives had the combination."
"Marcus has the combination," Julian stated plainly, not breaking eye contact with Beatrice. "And Marcus has been sharing more than just legal advice with your mother over the past decade."
Marcus’s face darkened instantly. The calm, composed lawyer facade cracked, revealing a flash of genuine panic in his pale eyes. He took a sharp step forward, his hands balling into tight fists at his sides.
"You are spouting baseless defamation, Julian," Marcus snarled, his voice losing its smooth veneer. "If you don't pick up that trash and apologize to Mrs. Vanguard right this second, I will personally ensure you are locked away in a psychiatric ward before midnight."
"Try it, Marcus," Julian challenged, his stance shifting into a defensive posture that clearly indicated he was ready for a fight. "The local district attorney already has a duplicate of everything inside that folder. The moment I don't check in with my contact outside by midnight, an automated protocol releases the entire archive to the federal authorities."
Beatrice slowly lowered her gaze to the leather folder. For the first time since the altercation began, the older woman’s legendary composure faltered. A single micro-expression of pure, unadulterated fear flashed across her face before she quickly masked it behind her icy stare.
"You think you've won, don't you?" Beatrice whispered, her voice dropping to a dangerous hiss that only Julian and Elena could hear. "You think a few stolen documents can dismantle what took us forty years to build?"
"It’s not a theft if it belongs to the rightful heir," Julian replied calmly. He turned his head slightly and looked directly at Elena. "Open the folder, Elena. Read what your mother and Marcus were discussing the night your father died."
Elena swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she slowly knelt down among the scattered silver trays. Her fingers brushed against the cold leather.
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"Don't touch it, Elena!" Beatrice commanded sharply, stepping forward with her hand raised. "Listen to me! He is lying to destroy our family!"
Elena’s fingers gripped the brass clasp of the folder. She looked up at her mother, seeing genuine panic in the older woman's eyes for the very first time. With a sharp click, the clasp popped open.
