Chapter 5
Julian’s days at the public high school offered a stark, grounding contrast to the elite, private institutions where his family’s donations dictated policy and grades. Here, the classrooms were crowded, the textbooks were outdated, and the students came from working-class families who valued education as a rare ticket to a better life. Julian taught American literature with a passion that had slowly withered under the stifling expectations of his mother, rediscovering why he had fallen in love with teaching in the first place.
One afternoon, as Julian was grading essays at his cluttered metal desk, a knock sounded on his open classroom door. He looked up to see Marcus Vance, his estranged cousin’s husband, standing awkwardly in the hallway. Marcus was a corporate lawyer who usually wore expensive bespoke suits, but today he looked oddly out of place among the lockers and student art projects, holding a leather briefcase like a shield.
"Julian," Marcus said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "Do you have a minute?"
Julian did not invite him to sit. He laid his red pen down on the desk, interlocking his fingers. "Depends on what you're selling, Marcus. If it's another lecture from Aunt Evelyn, save your breath. The ink on the disinheritance papers is barely dry."
Marcus winced slightly, adjusting his silk tie. "It’s not from Evelyn. Well, technically it is, but she doesn't know I'm here. Look, Julian, the estate is in chaos. Since you left, Aunt Beatrice has been running roughshod over everyone. She alienated the board members, mismanaged the foundation funds, and now the annual charity gala is completely derailed because nobody can manage the donor relations database that you spent ten years building."
Julian stared at his cousin, feeling a profound sense of detachment. The problems of the Vance empire felt as distant to him as ancient history. "That sounds like a fascinating family drama, Marcus. But I teach high school English now. My database skills are strictly limited to tracking attendance and essay grades."
"Evelyn is furious," Marcus pressed forward, lowering his voice. "She won't admit it, but the foundation is hemorrhaging credibility. She sent Beatrice to your apartment last week to try to intimidate you into coming back, but Beatrice lost her temper and blew it."
"Beatrice tried to intimidate us?" Julian asked, his voice dropping an octave, a cold edge entering his tone. "Is that what you call terrorizing a six-year-old child over a dress?"
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Marcus looked down at the linoleum floor, flushing with embarrassment. "Look, I didn't agree with how that was handled. Beatrice is relentless when she fixates on something. But Evelyn is getting older, Julian. Her grip is slipping, and the vultures are circling. She needs you back. She won't ask, of course, but—"
"I am never going back, Marcus," Julian interrupted, his voice absolute and unyielding. "Tell Aunt Evelyn that we have built a real life, in the real world, and we wouldn't trade it for all her millions. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a stack of essays to finish before I go home to my wife and daughter."
