Chapter 5: A Visitor at Midnight
The sharp, insistent buzzing of the intercom downstairs cut through the silence of the west wing like a physical blow. Julian turned away from Sarah’s window, his jaw tightening into a hard line. It was past midnight. No delivery service, no corporate associate, and no polite guest would dare ring the front gates at this ungodly hour. Clara was upstairs, brooding in her whiskey and wrath, which meant the interruption had to be coming from the outside world—a world Julian had spent the last two years trying to lock out.
"Stay here," Julian commanded, his voice dropping to a low, urgent whisper as he handed the leather journal back to Sarah. "Don't open the door for anyone, no matter who it is."
Sarah clutched the book to her chest, nodding mutely, her eyes swimming with fresh tears. Julian didn’t wait for her to answer; he strode out of the room, his boots clicking heavily against the marble floor of the corridor as he made his way toward the grand foyer.
The intercom buzzed a second time, louder and more aggressive. Julian reached the wall panel, flicked the switch, and stared into the grainy, black-and-white monitor feed. Standing outside the massive iron gates was a man wearing a rain-soaked trench coat, his face partially obscured by the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat. Despite the poor quality of the camera, Julian recognized the posture immediately. It was a ghost from a life he had buried deep beneath corporate success and legal contracts.
"I know you're in there, Julian," a raspy, distorted voice crackled through the speaker, carrying a chilling familiarity that made Julian’s blood run cold. "You can hide behind your marble pillars and your scared little maids all you want, but debts don't just disappear because you changed your last name."
Julian pressed the talk button, his voice steady, laced with a cold menace that had terrified boardrooms across the country.
"You're trespassing on private property," Julian said, his eyes narrowing as he watched the monitor. "Turn around and walk away right now, or you won't make it off these grounds alive."
May you like
The man on the screen let out a low, mocking laugh that echoed faintly through the night air. Instead of retreating, the visitor reached into his coat, pulled out a small, metallic object, and held it up to the camera lens. It was an old, battered Zippo lighter—engraved with a serpent eating its own tail. Julian’s breath hitched in his throat. It was the exact symbol of the syndicate he had escaped five years ago, a syndicate that believed abandoning the brotherhood was an offense punishable by death.
Before Julian could process the threat, a heavy thud echoed from the upper floor, followed by Clara’s piercing scream slicing through the quiet night.
