Chapter 11 - The Third Heir
Julian lowered Victoria’s head gently onto the soot-dusted concrete and pushed himself up, coughing as he waved away the thick gray smoke. He turned to face the stairwell, squinting through the gloom.
A tall man in a tailored charcoal overcoat stepped out of the shadows. He wore leather gloves, and his silver-rimmed glasses glinted faintly in the dying amber embers of the failed ignition charge. There was an unsettling familiarity in the sharp curve of his jaw and the cold, calculating set of his eyes.
"Who are you?" Julian demanded, stepping protectively in front of the unconscious Victoria. "How did you get down here?"
The man chuckled—a low, melodic sound that carried no warmth whatsoever. He adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses, his gaze sweeping over the ruined boiler room, the charred bricks, and the unconscious young woman on the floor.
"I use the back entrance, Julian," the man said smoothly. "Just like my father did twenty-two years ago when he signed the demolition orders for Block 42."
Julian’s breath hitched in his throat. The pieces clicked together with terrifying speed, forming a puzzle he never knew existed.
"You..." Julian whispered, taking an involuntary step back. "You're not an investigator. You're a Blackwood."
"Alexander Blackwood," the man supplied with a slight, mocking bow. "Your half-brother. Or did Elena forget to mention that your father had a second family tucked away in the financial district while you were busy playing lord of the manor?"
Victoria groaned softly on the floor behind Julian, her fingers twitching as she began to regain consciousness.
"What do you want, Alexander?" Julian asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous register as he squared his shoulders, preparing for a fight he knew he was ill-equipped to win. "If you're here to gloat about the family legacy, you're a little late. The whole thing is already burning to the ground."
Alexander walked slowly toward them, his leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the debris. He stopped ten feet away, pulling a thick manila folder from beneath his overcoat.
"I'm not here to gloat, Julian. I'm here to collect," Alexander said, his tone turning businesslike and cold. "When our father died, he didn't leave his controlling shares of Blackwood Holdings to you. He left them in a conditional trust—a trust that required the true bloodline of the Blackwood estate to remain unblemished by scandal."
Julian stared at him, the horrifying arithmetic of corporate law dawning on him. "The cradle swap..."
"The cradle swap," Alexander echoed with a cruel smile, tapping the manila folder against his thigh. "And the arson cover-up. According to the trust agreement, if a scandal involving fraud, baby-switching, or murder is brought to light, the entire empire reverts to the surviving collateral heir."
Alexander paused, letting the silence hang heavy in the ruined vault before delivering the final blow.
May you like
"Which happens to be me. And I’ve already filed the paperwork with the SEC."
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