Chapter 5 - The Empty Shaft
Julian lunged forward, his heavy boots skidding across the Persian rug as he slammed his hands against the rough brick lining of the interior shaft. The single overhead bulb hummed angrily, casting harsh, flickering shadows against the damp mortar. But the space was completely empty. The black-dressed figure of Clara had vanished into thin air, leaving behind only a faint scent of damp earth and stale perfume.
Lily let out a sharp gasp, stumbling backward until her legs hit the velvet edge of the armchair.
“She was right there, Daddy!” Lily cried, her voice trembling as she pointed at the empty concrete floor where Clara had been sitting moments before. “I saw her! She didn’t use the door in the hallway!”
Julian dropped to one knee, ignoring the stiffness in his joints as he ran his heavily tattooed fingers along the base of the brick wall. His thick ring scraped against a hidden seam in the masonry, revealing a vertical gap wide enough for a person to slip through into the pitch-black ventilation network of the original 18th-century manor.
“There’s a secondary drop chute,” Julian muttered under his breath, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle popped near his temple. “It connects directly to the sub-basement beneath the wine cellars.”
Evelyn stood frozen near the doorway, her hands trembling uncontrollably as she stared into the dark opening with wide, horrified eyes. The mask of aristocratic control had completely shattered, leaving behind a frail, terrified old woman.
“She’s going down to the vault,” Evelyn whispered, her voice dropping into a breathless rasp. “She’s going to open the iron box.”
Julian whipped his head around, his dark eyes locking onto his mother with a fury that made the air in the room feel instantly volatile.
“What iron box, Mother?” Julian demanded, standing up to his full, imposing height and stepping toward her like a predator cornering its prey. “What the hell else have you and Marcus hidden beneath this house while you let me mourn a ghost for three years?”
Evelyn backed up until her shoulders pressed against the wooden paneling of the door, her chest heaving beneath the dark blue lace dress.
“Your father’s final will,” Evelyn confessed, her voice cracking as tears finally spilled over her wrinkled cheeks. “The one that leaves every single asset, every property, and every offshore account not to you, Julian… but to Clara’s unborn child.”
Julian stopped dead in his tracks, his massive tattooed chest halting its rise and fall as the words echoed off the marble walls.
“Unborn child?” Julian repeated, the syllables tasting like ash in his mouth. He looked from his mother to ten-year-old Lily, whose pale face was twisted in utter confusion. “Clara wasn’t pregnant when she died.”
“She was three months along when we put her in the wall,” Evelyn sobbed, covering her face with her shaking hands.
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Before Julian could process the horrifying weight of the confession, the heavy drawing room door slowly swung open on its own, revealing Marcus standing in the threshold with a heavy brass fireplace poker dripping with fresh blood.
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