Chapter 11 - The Bailout
Julian’s breath caught in his throat. "Bail? On what grounds? She's under investigation for fraud and suspected involvement in a homicide."
"Her defense attorney argued that the financial discrepancies were administrative errors, and the judge granted a conditional release pending the forensic audit of the estate," Sarah explained, slipping her clipboard under her arm. "She's not allowed within five hundred yards of you, Mr. Vance, but she's currently staying at a motel downtown, and her legal team is fighting tooth and nail to claim sole executorship of the trust."
Julian clenched his fists, the rage bubbling just beneath the surface of his skin. "She's buying time. She knows the bank audit will take at least forty-eight hours to clear."
"Which is why you need to focus on securing your own legal representation, not picking a fight you aren't equipped to win," Sarah advised firmly as she walked toward the stairs. "I'll make sure Leo is settled in a secure facility overnight. Don't do anything foolish, Mr. Vance. One wrong move, and you lose him permanently."
She left the house, closing the heavy oak door behind her with a soft click. Julian stood alone in the hallway, the silence pressing down on him like a physical weight. He knew Sarah was right, but waiting forty-eight hours while Clara plotted her next move felt like signing a death warrant for his chances of rescuing the boy.
He walked into his study, switching on the green-shaded desk lamp. The room was a mess of old tax returns, unread investment portfolios, and legal briefs. He pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk, searching for the hidden wall safe where his grandfather had kept the original parchment deeds to the property—documents that predated Clara's fraudulent marriage contract by nearly half a century.
His fingers brushed against the cold metal dial. He spun the combination—left to forty-two, right to eighteen, left to seven. The heavy steel door clicked open, revealing a velvet-lined compartment inside.
Inside the safe sat a single manila envelope, sealed with red wax bearing the Vance family crest. Resting right on top of it was a cassette tape labeled simply: For Julian – If I Don't Come Back.
May you like
Julian’s hands shook as he lifted the tape out of the safe. He didn't even own a cassette player anymore, but he knew where his old stereo system was stored—down in the dark, forgotten corner of the third-floor attic.
---
