Chapter 7 - The Ledger of Sins
The fleeting flicker of panic in Julian’s eyes was all the confirmation Naaly needed. She had struck a nerve, hitting deeper than any property deed or adoption paper ever could. Beneath the velvet jewelry box in the safe, she had spotted a secondary, locked compartment that required a physical key—a key she happened to be holding right now in the palm of her hand, having slipped it off her father's old key ring before walking down the hall.
"You thought you cleaned the safe out completely, didn't you, Julian?" Naaly said, her voice dripping with icy calm as she kept her fist tightly closed inside her hoodie pocket. "You focused so much on the adoption papers and the fake debt addendums that you forgot about the physical audit logs from your father’s corporate accounts back in 2018."
Julian’s face drained of color, the easy arrogance instantly evaporating from his posture. He took a half-step forward, his hand instinctively reaching out as if to block her. "You're bluffing. There's nothing in that safe except what we planted."
"Planted?" Naaly’s lips curled into a sharp, bitter smile. "Thank you for admitting on record that you fabricated evidence, Julian. I just recorded every word of that sentence on my smartphone voice backup."
Clara gasped, stepping into the room and grabbing Julian’s arm. "Julian, you idiot! What did you just say?"
"Shut up, Clara!" Julian snapped, his eyes locked onto Naaly with venomous hatred. He lunged forward, moving faster than he had all afternoon, aiming straight for Naaly’s pocket where her smartphone rested.
Naaly anticipated the move. She sidestepped with athletic speed, darting past Clara and out into the hallway before Julian could grab her. Her white sneakers hit the hardwood with muffled thuds as she sprinted toward the living room, her mind racing for an exit. But as she burst into the main living area, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Her mother was no longer sitting on the sofa. Instead, the elderly woman was standing by the front door, holding a vintage rotary telephone receiver pressed to her ear, her face pale as ghost. Standing right behind her in the doorway, blocking the only way out, was a towering man in a sharp black suit holding a leather briefcase.
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"Too late, cousin," Julian’s voice echoed down the hallway as he jogged up behind her, breathless but smirking once again. "Meet Detective Vance from the county financial crimes unit. We called him here to report a break-in and identity theft... committed by a certain unauthorized librarian."
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