Chapter 6
The revelation of Julian’s unexpected return cast a long, dark shadow over the opulent living room. Victor paced slowly across the marble floor, his polished shoes clicking rhythmically against the stone. He stopped near the towering window, staring out into the manicured gardens where the evening mist was beginning to roll across the lawn. His mind was a labyrinth of suspicion and strategy. He trusted very few people in this world, and lately, the list of people he trusted included his wife less and less.
“If Julian was here,” Victor said without turning around, his voice measured and analytical, “why didn't you press the panic button installed beside the fireplace? Why didn't you call me the second he walked out of the room?”
Eleanor froze. Her breath hitched in her throat, a momentary panic flashing across her wide blue eyes before she quickly masked it with a look of wounded distress. She stepped forward, her dark red dress sweeping softly against the floor.
“I was terrified, Victor!” she pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion. “He told me if I made a single sound, or if I alerted security, he would take Ethan with him. He had a gun in his coat pocket. What was I supposed to do? Risk our son’s life to catch him a few minutes earlier?”
Victor turned slowly to face her. He studied her face, looking for the microscopic tells that distinguished truth from deceit. He had spent years negotiating multi-million-dollar real estate deals, reading the subtle body language of trembling developers and deceitful partners. Eleanor’s performance was convincing, yet something didn’t add up. The perimeter security system—the most advanced biometric setup money could buy—had not logged a single breach code all afternoon.
“The security logs show zero entries through the back sitting room today, Eleanor,” Victor said quietly, narrowing his eyes. “The system cannot be bypassed by an old key. Every door requires a thumbprint and a rolling digital code.”
Eleanor’s face paled further. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. For a fraction of a second, the mask slipped, revealing a deep, desperate terror that had nothing to do with Julian Vance and everything to do with being caught in a lie.
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Before Victor could press her further, a soft knock echoed from the double doors. The head of security, a hulking ex-marine named Marcus, stepped into the room with a grave expression. He held a sleek tablet computer in his gloved hand.
“Mr. Sterling,” Marcus said, nodding respectfully. “We pulled the exterior and interior security footage from the last four hours. We found something interesting regarding the maid’s accusation.”
