Chapter 8: The Ultimatum
That evening, Vincent didn't bother dining with Julian. Through the crack of the library door, Julian watched his brother pacing furiously while on a speakerphone call.
"I have the documents signed by Keller!" Vincent yelled, his voice laced with panic. "The probate judge will clear the title by Friday! Tell Moretti I'll have his twenty million next week!"
A gravelly voice answered over the receiver. *"Friday is too late, Vance. The interest is compounding daily. If the deed isn't transferred to our holding company by tomorrow midnight, we visit the cliffside estate ourselves. And we won't leave anyone behind to file insurance claims."*
The line went dead.
Vincent slammed the phone onto the desk, knocking over a crystal decanter. He buried his face in his hands, breathing like a wounded animal. When he looked up, his eyes were bloodshot and hollow.
Julian saw the exact moment the decision crystallized in Vincent’s mind. Vincent couldn't wait for the court's bureaucratic probate process. A direct, immediate life insurance payout on Julian was the only way to meet the gang's deadline.
Vincent walked to the wall safe, retrieved a small glass vial containing a clear amber liquid, and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
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Julian retreated silently to the kitchen. He knew the liquid was the same paralytic that had taken their father. Vincent intended to dose his bedtime tea, carry his paralyzed body to the cliffs, and throw him into the sea—staging it as a tragic late-night fall caused by blindness and disorientation.
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