Chapter 7
The flickering light of the brass lantern illuminated the neat, precise handwriting of the late family attorney, Mr. Arthur Pendelton. Julian’s eyes scanned the first entry, his breath catching in his throat as the horrific architecture of Eleanor’s deceit laid itself bare on the page.
The ledger was not merely a financial account; it was an inventory of theft, bribery, and systematic erasure. Entries detailed regular payouts to orphanage directors, local magistrates, and corrupt physicians who had signed fraudulent death certificates following the nursery fire. According to the documents, both infant twins had indeed been rescued from the flames by a loyal wet nurse who had subsequently vanished. However, Eleanor had tracked the nurse down within forty-eight hours.
Julian traced a line with his finger where Pendelton had recorded the payoff for placing the male infant—Julian himself—into the custody of a distant, childless cousin in the capital, while the female infant had been quietly returned to the estate’s basement under an alias to serve as an untraceable drudge. Eleanor had kept Clara alive not out of mercy, but as a living insurance policy—a biological anchor to the estate’s legal deeds, which required a direct blood heir to remain active under the ancient royal charter, yet kept completely disenfranchised so Eleanor could pillage the family vaults without oversight.
“Monstrous,” Julian whispered to the empty room, the word tasting like ash on his tongue.
He flipped further through the ledger, searching for the specific legal deeds that transferred ownership of the estate. A folded parchment slipped from the pages and fluttered down onto the desk. Julian picked it up, unfolding the brittle paper. It was a codicil to his father’s true will, signed and witnessed just three days before the fatal fire. The document explicitly stated that in the event of any tragedy befalling the parents, guardianship of the estate and the children would pass to a trusted judicial panel in the capital, completely bypassing Eleanor and leaving her with only a modest annual stipend.
Eleanor hadn’t just stolen their childhood; she had murdered their parents to seize control of an empire.
A sudden, sharp sound echoed from the outer hallway—the distinct rustle of heavy silk brushing against a wooden doorframe.
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Julian’s blood ran cold. He froze, the lantern light casting a frantic glow across the walls. Footsteps approached the double doors of the study with slow, deliberate pacing. There was no time to replace the ledger in the drawer, no time to lock the mechanism.
Panic surged through his veins, but survival instinct took over. Julian blew out the lantern plunging the room into darkness, snatched the ledger and the codicil, and dove behind the heavy velvet drapes draping the towering arched window just as the heavy study doors began to slowly swing open.
