Chapter 5: Unraveling the Foundation
The phrase the foundation echoed in Julian’s mind as he drove the rental car through the quiet streets of downtown. Claire sat in the passenger seat, having finally changed out of her wedding gown into a simple beige dress she had borrowed from the hotel manager's office. In the back seat, Lily slept soundly, clutching a small stuffed bear that the hotel receptionist had given her. The wedding was officially postponed—indefinitely. Their guests had been fed, thanked, and sent home with polite apologies about a sudden family emergency.
"What do you think he meant by 'the foundation'?" Claire asked quietly, breaking the heavy silence inside the car. She turned to look at Julian, whose hands gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity.
"My father's company," Julian replied grimly, signaling to turn down a narrow side street lined with brick industrial buildings. "Vance Architectural Restoration. David and I inherited it jointly after the old man passed away. When we had our falling out five years ago, David signed over his voting shares to me for a lump sum. At least, I thought he did."
Claire’s eyes widened slightly. "You thought he did? Julian, didn't you have lawyers handle that?"
"Of course we did," Julian said, pulling the car to a halt outside a tall, imposing brick building with faded gold lettering on the glass door. Vance & Vance. "Or so I thought. David handled the direct filing because I was traveling abroad for the major museum project at the time. He insisted on doing the paperwork himself to save on legal fees. I never questioned it. We were brothers."
They stepped out of the car, the cool afternoon air hitting their faces. Julian unlocked the front glass door of the office, the familiar chime ringing above them. The building was dark and still, smelling of old paper, dust, and polished mahogany. It was Saturday, so the staff was gone, leaving the echoing footsteps of Julian and Claire to fill the cavernous reception area.
Julian walked straight to his private office on the second floor, pushing open the heavy oak door. He strode over to the large mahogany desk, unlocked the bottom drawer, and pulled out a heavy metal lockbox. His fingers trembled slightly as he punched in the combination—a date significant to both him and David, the day they completed their first major restoration together.
The box clicked open. Inside rested legal files, property deeds, and corporate ledgers dating back a decade. Julian pulled out the master operating agreement for Vance Architectural Restoration, flipping rapidly through the pages until he reached the signature block.
May you like
His breath caught in his throat.
The signature line for David was blank. Not just blank—the page had been neatly excised from the bound document with a razor blade. In its place was a sticky note in that same messy handwriting: You never owned it, Julian. And neither did Dad.
