Chapter 7
Elena and Marcus both spun around toward the dark courtyard where the manicured hedges met the wrought-iron perimeter fence. Pressing firmly against the glass of the French door was a pale, gaunt face partially obscured by the collar of a heavy black trench coat, two hollow eyes staring directly into Elena's soul with an intensity that made her blood run cold.
"Who is that?" Elena demanded, taking a half-step backward and clutching the yellowed envelope to her chest.
Marcus didn't answer immediately; instead, his face drained of what little color remained, his jaw slackening in sheer disbelief as he stared at the figure standing in the shadows of the rain-slicked garden. "That's... that's impossible," Marcus muttered, his voice trembling as he took a tentative step toward the door. "He died in the hospital thirty years ago."
Before Marcus could reach the latch, the French door swung open with a slow, agonizing creak, the cold night wind sweeping into the ballroom and extinguishing half of the remaining candles on the tables. The figure in the trench coat stepped inside, shaking the heavy mist from his shoulders to reveal a long, jagged scar running from his temple down past his jawline.
"Good evening, Marcus," the man rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves scraping across concrete. "Did you really think a few offshore accounts and a rigged wedding would keep my legacy buried forever?"
Elena stared at the stranger, her mind racing as she tried to connect the scarred face to the faded photographs in her childhood albums. "You... you're Arthur Vance. My father's older brother. The one the family said perished in the overseas fire."
Arthur offered a grim, humorless smile that didn't reach his dead eyes. "The family lied about a great many things, my dear niece. Starting with who actually engineered the hostile takeover of your father's estate."
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Marcus stumbled backward, his hand catching the edge of a mahogany table to steady himself. "Arthur... we thought you were dead. We divided the assets legally according to the probate court rulings."
"You divided stolen property, Marcus," Arthur said, stepping further into the light, his gaze shifting from his brother to the heavy flash drive still clutched in Elena’s hand. "And now, it’s time for a proper accounting."
