Chapter 7 - The Crumpled Will
The heavy thud of Julian and Marcus struggling against the mahogany table shook the entire drawing room, sending a decorative china vase crashing to the floor in a shower of white shards. Julian’s massive arms wrapped around the butler’s chest, lifting the older man off his feet with brutal physical force and slamming him hard against the oak bookcase. The brass fireplace poker clattered uselessly onto the Persian rug, splashing more dark blood across the intricate patterns of the carpet.
Marcus gasped for air, his face turning an unhealthy shade of purple as Julian’s thick, tattooed fingers locked tightly around his collar.
“Where is she?” Julian snarled directly into the butler’s ear, his voice vibrating with unchecked fury. “Where did Clara go?”
Before Marcus could choke out a reply, a soft rustling sound drew all eyes back toward the dark opening behind the marble mantelpiece.
Ten-year-old Lily stepped cautiously away from her grandmother, her pale face illuminated by the flickering embers of the fire. She pointed a trembling finger toward the floor of the brick-lined shaft.
“Daddy… look,” Lily whispered.
Julian released his grip on Marcus, letting the butler collapse onto the floor in a coughing fit. Julian turned quickly, his heavy boots crunching over broken china as he crossed the room. Lying on the cold stone directly beneath the hidden wall access was a crumpled, yellowed sheaf of legal parchment, smeared with dust and fresh, wet ink.
Evelyn hobbled forward, her eyes widening in sheer terror as she recognized the heavy wax seal embossed on the top corner of the document.
“No,” Evelyn breathed, her voice cracking into a high-pitched whine. “That’s impossible. I personally burned the master copy in the incinerator three years ago.”
Julian bent down, his massive, tattooed hand carefully picking up the fragile paper. He unfolded it slowly, his eyes scanning the dense legal jargon printed beneath the letterhead of Blackwood & Associates. The document was dated exactly four days before Clara’s supposed fatal car crash.
“Arthur Blackwood’s final testament,” Julian read aloud, his voice dropping into a harsh, hollow whisper. He paused, his eyes locking onto a specific paragraph near the bottom of the page. “Leaving the entirety of the estate, the trust funds, and the overseas holdings to Clara Blackwood, and subsequently to her direct bloodline… with zero provisions for my mother, and only a meager stipend for myself.”
Evelyn lunged forward with surprising speed, trying to snatch the paper from Julian’s grip, but Julian merely raised his arm out of her reach, his dark eyes burning with betrayal.
“You locked her in the wall not just because she discovered our financial crimes,” Julian said, turning his slow, agonizing gaze toward his mother. “You locked her in the wall to steal her inheritance.”
Evelyn stopped, her chest heaving as she glared up at her son with naked, unrepentant hatred.
“She was going to ruin us, Julian!” Evelyn shrieked, her voice echoing off the high ceiling. “We were drowning in debt! Your father’s empire was built on sand, and Clara was holding the shovel!”
Marcus pushed himself up from the floor, wiping a smear of blood from his lip with the back of his hand, a cold, chilling smile returning to his face.
“She didn’t just leave a will behind in that shaft, Mr. Blackwood,” Marcus said softly, nodding toward the dark interior of the wall. “She left a visitor.”
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From the pitch-black depths of the ventilation shaft, a low, rasping cough echoed outward, followed by the slow, deliberate scrape of bare feet against brick.
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