Chapter 2 - The Shadow Behind the Pavilion
Julian froze, every muscle in his small body locking up as the cold metal of a ring brushed against his neck. Sharda instinctively stepped forward to shield him, but a second figure materialized from behind the trunk of a massive willow tree, cutting off her escape route toward the walking paths.
"Step away from the boy, Sharda," a tall man in a sharply tailored charcoal suit commanded smoothly. His face was entirely ordinary, the kind of face that melted seamlessly into a crowd, yet his eyes were as dead and flat as river stones. "Your uncle has been quite distressed about your unauthorized afternoon stroll."
"He's not going back there," Sharda declared, her voice dropping into a steely register that defied her small stature. "The agreement was custody transfer at the municipal building, not an ambush by the duck pond."
"Agreements change when the asset tries to compromise forty million dollars of municipal development," the man replied coldly, tightening his grip on Julian’s shoulder.
Julian winced, a sharp pain shooting down his arm. "You're hurting me," he whimpered, refusing to give the man the satisfaction of a loud scream.
"Quiet, boy," the man hissed, pulling Julian backward into the deep shadow cast by the picnic pavilion. "You’ve caused enough trouble for one lifetime. If you had stayed in the foster unit in upstate New York like you were told, none of the foundation records would have needed auditing."
"I saw what was in the file," Julian whispered defiantly, his grey eyes locked onto the man's lapel pin—a small silver key emblem identical to the one hanging on a chain around Sharda's neck.
The man paused, his expression shifting from bored indifference to calculating malice. He released Julian's shoulder just enough to reach inside his jacket, his fingers wrapping around the handle of a sleek, black leather folder tucked securely beneath his arm.
"What did you say you saw, boy?" the man asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy murmur.
"The names," Julian answered steadily, taking a deliberate step toward Sharda. "My real name isn't Julian. And Sharda isn't Sharda."
Sharda gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth as the man's expression twisted into something terrifyingly feral.
"Hand over the folder, Arthur," a crisp, unfamiliar voice called out from the edge of the walking path.
May you like
Arthur whipped his head around, his hand sliding instantly toward his waist, while Julian and Sharda exchanged a look of pure, unadulterated dread.
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