Chapter 4: The Paper in the Pocket
The gala collapsed into utter chaos. Arthur Vance signaled his private security to herd the reporters into the library, while Gregory Thorne stormed toward the bar, cursing furiously into his phone. Elena grabbed Julian’s scarred forearm and led him out through the grand terrace into the cool night air of the estate gardens.
The autumn wind rustled the maples. Julian stood on the marble steps, looking down at his worn leather boots. "You shouldn't have done that, Miss Vance. You belong in there. I belong under the hood of a semi-truck on the south side of town."
"Don't call me Miss Vance," Elena said, her voice shaking with adrenaline and emotion. "Ten years ago, they told me you died from smoke inhalation. Then my father claimed you were a mercenary who took a bribe and fled the state. Why didn't you ever come forward?"
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Julian reached into the inner lining of his canvas jacket and pulled out a faded, creased envelope. Its edges were browned by time, sealed with a cracked red wax stamp. "Because your father made sure no one would listen. But my grandfather passed away last week. He was the head boiler technician at your father’s logistics warehouse back then. On his deathbed, he handed me this. He made me swear I would give it directly to you—not Arthur, but you."
Elena took the envelope, her fingers tracing the faded handwriting across the front: To Elena Vance — The Truth of the St. Jude Fire. Before she could break the seal, the heavy garden doors burst open, and Arthur Vance stepped out into the night alone, the arrogance stripped from his eyes, replaced by raw terror.
