Chapter 4 - Shadows in the Library
The front door of the estate groaned in protest as Valeria forced the heavy brass key into the antique lock and turned it. The mechanism gave a satisfying, heavy thud before the door swung inward, releasing a wave of trapped dust, old leather, and the unmistakable scent of damp cedar. Julian pushed past her just enough to click on the heavy brass flashlight he always kept in his glove compartment, sweeping the narrow beam across the grand foyer. The crystal chandelier hung motionless overhead, covered in protective white sheets like a row of silent ghosts.
“Stay close,” Julian murmured, his voice echoing hollowly against the high vaulted ceiling.
Valeria’s heels clicked sharply on the hardwood floor as she walked toward the back of the house, her eyes locked on the double mahogany doors of her father’s private library. The maroon one-shoulder dress swished around her ankles with every deliberate step. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that drowned out the sound of the rain outside. She pushed open the library doors without knocking.
The beam of Julian’s flashlight cut across the vast room, illuminating towering bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes. In the center of the room sat a massive mahogany desk. And sitting directly behind the desk, illuminated by a single green-shaded banker’s lamp, was the woman in the green blazer and dangling gold earrings.
Valeria stopped dead in her tracks, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp. “What are you doing in my father’s house?”
The woman slowly looked up from a stack of financial portfolios, her expression completely unbothered by their intrusion. She closed a thick manila folder with a quiet snap that echoed sharply in the quiet room.
“Waiting for you, Valeria,” the woman replied smoothly, leaning back in the leather chair. “Your father knew you’d come here tonight. He also knew you wouldn't believe a single word he said at the restaurant unless you saw the paper trail with your own eyes.”
Julian stepped into the room, his gray suit jacket damp at the shoulders, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the documents scattered across the desk. “You’re in over your head, Helena. This is private property.”
Helena let out a cold, humorless chuckle. Her dark reddish hair caught the green light of the lamp, framing her sharp cheekbones. “Private property? Julian, darling, your little law firm has been underwriting Mark’s shell companies for the last four years. Did you really think nobody was keeping score?”
Valeria dropped her handbag. It hit the floor with a heavy thump, spilling a few loose items across the Persian rug. She looked from Helena to Julian, her voice trembling with sudden, terrifying comprehension.
“Julian?” Valeria whispered, backing away slowly until her spine hit the edge of a mahogany bookshelf. “What is she talking about?”
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Julian swallowed hard, taking a step toward her with his hands raised defensively. “Valeria, let me explain.”
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