Chapter 4
Midnight had settled over the Vance estate like a shroud of heavy velvet. The grand foyer was dark, save for the pale moonlight cutting through the tall arched windows and illuminating the polished wood of the staircase. Clara unlocked the heavy front door and stepped inside alone, leaving Julianne at the hospital under observation and Detective Miller to follow up on Julian’s whereabouts.
The house felt cavernous and hostile. The scent of beeswax and old paper hung in the air, mixed with the faint metallic tang of fear that Clara couldn't quite wash from her skin. She shed her dark red shawl, letting it drape over the back of an armchair, and walked slowly toward the staircase. She stopped beneath the massive oil painting of the 19th-century countryside estate.
Up close, the hidden camera lens looked like a malignant growth embedded in the gold leaf. Clara reached up, her fingertips hovering just millimeters away from the cold glass. She didn't touch it. She knew the server was likely locked away in the basement utility closet behind a biometric padlock that only Julian could open.
A sudden floorboard creaked upstairs.
Clara froze, her breath catching in her throat. "Julian?" she called out, her voice echoing into the high ceiling.
There was no answer, only the sound of slow, heavy footsteps moving down the second-floor hallway toward the landing. Clara gripped the banister, her knuckles aching. A shadow detached itself from the darkness of the upper gallery, descending step by step until the figure stepped into the moonlight.
It wasn't Julian. It was Marcus, Julian’s long-time business partner and financial advisor, dressed in a charcoal suit without a tie, looking exhausted and grim.
"Marcus? What are you doing here?" Clara asked, lowering her hand from the banister as a wave of confusion washed over her relief.
Marcus stopped midway down the stairs, looking down at her with a mixture of pity and professional detachment. "I have a key, Clara. Julian and I share corporate oversight of the estate’s trust. Or did you think he managed all of this entirely on his own?"
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"Julian isn't answering his phone," Clara said, her voice dropping to an anxious register. "The police are involved. Julianne fell down the stairs, there's footage from that cursed frame up there, and my husband has vanished into thin air."
Marcus let out a dry, humorless laugh, descending the remaining steps until he stood face-to-face with her. "Julian didn't vanish, Clara. He packed his bags three days ago. He left for Geneva on a private charter flight. And before he left, he handed me full power of attorney over every asset bearing his name—including this house, and including the surveillance logs."
