Chapter 9
Julian stared at the documents in the dim moonlight, the stark reality of the ink signatures confirming everything Richard had suspected. Marcus Vance had systematically embezzled millions from the Blackwood accounts, and when Eleanor had discovered the discrepancy, he had forged her signature on the final transfer papers before staging her fatal fall on the terrace.
Suddenly, the sharp click of the exterior door unlocking echoed through the quiet carriage house.
Julian’s blood ran cold. He shoved the manila folder inside his jacket, scrambled backward, and pulled the safe door shut just as the overhead lights flooded the room in a harsh, blinding glare.
"I thought I heard footsteps out here," a smooth, chilling voice drawled from the doorway.
Marcus Vance stood in the entrance, wearing a silk dressing gown over his shirt, holding a heavy silver-barreled revolver pointed steadily at Julian’s chest. The polished, professional demeanor was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, calculating predator.
Julian slowly rose to his feet, keeping his hands visible at his sides. His mind raced, calculating the distance between them, but the gun was an insurmountable obstacle.
"Arthur’s boy," Marcus murmured, a cruel smile touching his lips as he stepped further into the room, closing the exit. "I wondered how long it would take for you to show your true colors. You look just like your father—staring into things that don't concern you, walking blindly into traps."
"You killed Mrs. Blackwood," Julian said, his voice remarkably steady despite the terror gripping his chest. "And you framed my father for embezzlement to cover your tracks."
Marcus laughed softly, a dry, dismissive sound. "Your father was a fool who didn't know how to look the other way. And Eleanor was simply inconvenient. She thought love and family honor could stand against real power. She had to be removed." He took another step forward, the barrel of the gun never wavering. "And now, unfortunately, history is about to repeat itself. A tragic break-in at the carriage house. A desperate young man caught stealing estate valuables. The police will close the case before morning."
Julian tightened his grip on the stolen folder hidden inside his jacket. He didn't flinch, maintaining his focus on Marcus’s eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation.
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"You think you've won," Julian said quietly. "You think Richard won't find out what you've done."
"Richard is an old, broken ghost," Marcus sneered, his finger tightening slightly on the trigger. "He has no proof. And by tomorrow—"
