Chapter 7
Returning to the mansion alone felt like walking through a mausoleum. The grand hallway, with its black and white checkered marble flooring and tall white pillars, was suffocatingly quiet. The frantic chaos of a few days ago felt like a distant nightmare, yet the physical reminders remained. Julian walked slowly down the corridor, his footsteps echoing against the high ceilings. He stopped at the nursery door. It was locked from the outside, the brass knob cold to the touch. He didn't go in. Knowing that Martha and Leo were safe at the northern lodge gave him a thin thread of comfort, but the emptiness of the main house gnawed at his core.
He poured himself a finger of scotch from the crystal decanter in the study, swirling the amber liquid absently as he stared out into the dark garden. The legal battle had only just begun, but Clara’s counter-strike arrived faster than Victoria had predicted. By mid-afternoon, three different banking institutions had frozen the operational accounts of Sterling Enterprises, citing 'unforeseen domestic liabilities.' Clara’s father was pulling every string he owned, using the state’s financial infrastructure as a blunt instrument to punish Julian for daring to challenge the family name.
A sharp rap at the front door broke the silence. Julian frowned, checking his watch. It was past nine o'clock. None of the staff were scheduled to be here at this hour, and the security guards were stationed at the perimeter gates, not the front entrance. He set his glass down on the mahogany desk, walking briskly toward the grand foyer.
He pulled open the heavy double doors, expecting process servers or perhaps one of Clara’s high-priced lawyers. Instead, standing on the marble porch under the dim porch light was an elderly man in a worn tweed suit, carrying a battered leather briefcase. It was Arthur Pendelton, the longtime family archivist and legal counsel for the Sterling estate before Julian’s father passed away. Arthur looked frail, his shoulders stooped, but his eyes behind thick wire-rimmed glasses were intensely sharp.
"Arthur? What are you doing here at this hour?" Julian asked, stepping aside to let the old man in. "It’s not safe for you to be involved in this."
"It hasn't been safe to be involved with this family for thirty years, Julian," Arthur replied grimly, stepping past him into the grand hallway. He set his briefcase down on the small marble table by the door and unbuckled the brass latches with trembling fingers. "I didn't come here to talk about your divorce or your corporate accounts. I came here because Clara paid a visit to the municipal archives this afternoon."
Julian’s blood ran cold. "The archives? Why would she go there?"
Arthur pulled out a yellowed, fragile manila folder tied with faded red ribbon and handed it to Julian. "She’s not just fighting for custody or money, Julian. She’s building a narrative. And to understand what she’s planning to do to you, you need to know what happened to the first Mrs. Sterling."
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Julian stared down at the folder in his hands, his breath catching in his throat. "The first Mrs. Sterling? My father was never married before my mother."
"Not your father," Arthur whispered, the dim hallway shadows lengthening around them. "Your grandfather. The original owner of this estate. Clara didn't stumble into this family by accident, Julian. She hunted you down because she knew the bloodline's darkest secret. And now, she’s going to use it to destroy you completely."
