Chapter 7
The grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway chimed midnight, its deep, resonant gongs echoing hollowly through the empty corridors of the Vance estate. In the third-floor home office, the green glow of dual computer monitors illuminated Julian’s face as he rapidly scrolled through encrypted financial ledgers, searching for the hidden accounts Clara’s late brother had left behind.
Marcus sat across the heavy oak desk, smoking an unlit cigar and watching the screen with sharp, critical eyes. "You're looking in the wrong place, Julian. Pendelton wouldn't keep the Vermont files in a digital database. Men of his generation are paranoid. They prefer paper, ink, and physical leverage locked away in a secure vault."
"Every digital transaction leaves a digital footprint, Marcus," Julian replied without looking away from the screen, his fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard. "If Pendelton bought those properties through a shell company, there has to be a transfer of funds connecting his personal accounts to the Maine boarding school trust."
The door opened quietly, and Clara stepped into the room carrying a silver tray with two cups of black coffee. She set one down beside Julian and the other near Marcus, her movements efficient and practiced. She had changed out of her wedding dress into a simple dark turtleneck and tailored trousers, looking more like a corporate executive than a jilted bride.
"If you're looking for the Maine trust, check the offshore accounts under the name 'North Star Holdings,'" Clara said quietly, leaning over the edge of the desk to point at a specific line of encrypted data on the monitor. "My brother used that name for all his confidential transactions."
Julian paused, his fingers hovering over the keys. He glanced up at her, surprised by the precision of her knowledge. He entered the name into the search query, and a complex web of subsidiary accounts immediately populated the screen, tracing directly back to a private safety deposit box at the Boston Mercantile Bank.
"The Boston Mercantile," Marcus muttered, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. "That’s downtown. Pendelton keeps his physical leverage in the main vault."
"Which requires a biometric scan and a physical key to open," Julian noted, checking the security protocols listed in the bank's public directory. "We can't just walk in there at midnight and demand access."
"We don't need to demand access," Clara said, a faint, cold smile touching the corners of her mouth. "Pendelton is hosting a private charity gala at the Algonquin Club tonight. He always keeps his bank master key in his tailored suit jacket during public events."
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Julian stared at her, the audacity of the plan registering clearly in his mind. "You want to pick his pocket at a high-society charity gala while the entire Boston elite is watching?"
"It’s not picking a pocket, Julian," Clara replied, her tone icy and resolute. "It’s reclaiming what is ours before he uses it to destroy us at tomorrow morning's board meeting."
