Chapter 7
Arthur Vance stood in the doorway, a heavy silk bathrobe tied loosely around his waist, holding a silver-barreled revolver in his right hand. The metal caught the moonlight, casting a cold, predatory glint across the room. He didn't look surprised; instead, a grim, humorless smile touched the corners of his thin lips.
"I wondered how long it would take you two rats to crawl out of the woodwork," Arthur said, his voice echoing smoothly in the cavernous parlor. He raised the firearm, leveling it directly at the shadows where Julian stood. "Put your hands where I can see them, Julian. You’re entirely out of your depth."
Julian stepped out from the shadows into the moonlight, his posture completely relaxed, belying the coiled spring of readiness beneath his calm exterior. "You're holding a gun in your own house, Arthur. That usually means you've run out of clever arguments and legal loopholes."
"I’ve run out of patience," Arthur corrected sharply, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room for Clara. "Clara, step out. Hiding behind hired muscle isn't going to save you from the reality of this family's legacy. Everything you think you own was built on blood and bad debts."
Clara stepped forward from the doorway, her head held high, the shock of the earlier fall entirely replaced by a fierce, unyielding resolve. "My father built this company on innovation and hard work, Arthur. You built your fortune on extortion and murder. Martha told us everything about the night he died."
Arthur’s smile vanished, replaced by a dark, dangerous scowl. He shifted his grip on the revolver, his finger tightening slightly on the trigger. "Martha talks too much. A predictable flaw in people of her station. It’s unfortunate that her daughter’s tuition payments are about to be abruptly canceled."
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"You won't touch her," Julian said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a chilling finality that made even Arthur hesitate for a fraction of a second.
"Won't I?" Arthur sneered. "Who is going to stop me? The police? They belong to me, just like the board of directors. You have three seconds to hand over whatever you took from that safe, or I turn this room into a crime scene that ends with both of you buried in the orchard."
