Chapter 6 - The Unlisted Number
The screen of Julian’s phone glowed with a harsh, glaring white light in the dim, opulent hallway. He pulled the device from his pocket with his left hand while keeping his right hand resting protectively on little Lily’s shoulder. The unlisted number displayed no caller ID, only a timestamp from precisely thirty seconds ago. Julian’s dark eyes narrowed as he tapped the message icon, opening a high-resolution image that made the air in the room drop another ten degrees.
It was a photograph taken from a high angle, looking directly down through the second-floor library window. The room was dark, illuminated only by the faint amber glow of a single brass desk lamp. Sitting in Julian’s private leather armchair was a man whose face was half-hidden in shadows, but the distinctive gold signet ring on his right hand was unmistakable—it belonged to Victor Vance, Julian’s estranged, allegedly deceased uncle and the original patriarch of the estate.
Lily tugged gently at the hem of Julian’s dark green suit, breaking his intense concentration. "Daddy, can I go back to my room now? My doll is still in there."
Julian forced his stern facial expression to soften into a gentle smile for his daughter, kneeling down to meet her eye level. "Of course, sweetheart. Your room is right where it should be. Go on inside and wait for me for just a minute, okay?" He gently brushed a stray lock of brown hair from her forehead, watching as the toddler in the white tulle dress skipped happily down the hallway toward her restored nursery.
The moment Lily turned the corner, Julian’s expression hardened back into a predatory mask. He stared down at the phone screen, his thumb hovering over the reply button. The dark chest tattoos visible beneath his open-collared black shirt seemed to tighten as his chest rose and fell in a slow, calculated breath. The federal marshals had just cleared the front gates with Clara and Marcus in handcuffs, leaving Julian entirely alone in the cavernous, white-columned mansion.
He lifted the phone to his ear, dialing the unlisted number directly. It rang only once before a deep, raspy voice answered on the other end, devoid of any warmth or surprise.
"You always were too slow to finish the job, Julian," Victor’s voice rasped through the speaker, carrying an unsettling, mocking amusement. "You thought throwing a few lackies in handcuffs and reclaiming your digital ledger meant you won the war. You merely cleared the board of pawns while the king has been sitting in your study the entire time."
Julian stepped away from the floral garland-wrapped column, his leather shoes clicking sharply against the parquet floor as he began walking toward the grand staircase. "You died in that plane crash fifteen years ago, Victor," Julian said, his voice dangerously low, vibrating with restrained fury. "I identified the body myself. I saw the wreckage burn."
"Did you?" Victor chuckled darkly, the sound echoing through the phone line like grinding stones. "Money buys a lot of things, nephew—including dental records and a fresh set of ashes. I built this empire on blood and bricks long before you ever learned how to hold a pen. And I certainly didn't build it so my ungrateful nephew could hand it over to federal prosecutors."
Julian reached the base of the grand staircase, his hand resting on the polished wooden banister where Marcus had been slammed moments earlier. "If you're in my study, Victor, you should have locked the door. Because I'm coming up."
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"Oh, I locked it," Victor replied smoothly. "And you might want to check what’s waiting on your desk before you turn the handle."
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