Chapter 4
The heavy oak doors of the Vance estate library creaked open, revealing Arthur sitting rigidly in the wingback chair by the fireplace. The old man looked smaller today, his shoulders rounded under a knitted cardigan, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. Outside, the rain had begun to lash against the tall leaded windows, mirroring the storm raging inside Julian’s mind.
Elena paced the Persian rug, her beige coat discarded on a sofa, her fingers nervously twisting the pearls at her neck. Julian stood over Arthur, his phone still gripped tightly in his palm, his face dark with furious confusion.
“Explain it, Arthur,” Julian demanded, his voice echoing off the mahogany bookshelves. “Right now. Tell me every word of what you just told me on the phone, or I swear to God I’ll call the federal authorities myself.”
Arthur swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his withered throat. He raised his left arm with trembling slowness and pulled back the wool sleeve of his cardigan. There, stark and jagged against wrinkled skin, was a triangular burn scar that looked devastatingly authentic.
“It’s true,” Arthur whispered, his voice cracking. “Every word the girl said is true. I didn’t mean to kill him, Master Julian. It was an accident. The guard caught me carrying the bundle out of the maternity ward. He threatened to sound the alarm. We struggled near the basement boiler…”
Elena stopped pacing, her breath catching in her throat. “You… you took my baby? You were the one who stole my daughter forty years ago?”
“No, Mrs. Vance!” Arthur cried out, tears finally breaking free and tracking down his weathered cheeks. “I didn’t take her for myself! I was blackmailed. The man in the trench coat—the one who picked up the girl today—he was my commanding officer from the war. He said if I didn’t smuggle the child out, my family would pay the price. He was working for someone else. Someone very powerful in this city who wanted your husband out of the way.”
Julian slammed his hand down on the mahogany desk, making the crystal decanter rattle. “Who? Give me a name, Arthur! Who wanted to destroy our family?”
“I never knew his real name,” Arthur sobbed, bowing his head into his hands. “We only called him The Architect. He funded the hospital wing just so he could control the records. When the baby was born, she had that unique silver pendant sewn into her swaddling blanket—a family heirloom you inherited from your grandmother, Mrs. Vance.”
Elena sank onto the edge of the sofa, her hands covering her face as silent, shuddering sobs wracked her frame. “My mother’s pendant… Victor told me it was lost during the move. He lied to me all those years.”
“Mr. Vance knew?” Julian asked, horror dawning in his eyes as he looked at his mother.
“He found out a month later,” Elena murmured through her fingers. “He confronted the board, and then… then the financial ruin started. The scandals, the hostile takeovers. It broke him. He died believing our child was dead and our legacy was cursed.”
Julian stared at the old man cowering by the fireplace, the weight of a multi-million-dollar empire suddenly feeling like a prison built on bones and lies. “If the girl—Anna—has the pendant, and she knows about the basement and the guard, then she isn’t just a random victim. She’s the daughter they stole.”
“Or she’s the bait,” a cold, unfamiliar voice echoed from the shadows near the library entrance.
May you like
Julian and Elena whipped around. Standing by the open doorway was a man they had never seen before, wearing an immaculate gray suit, holding a silver briefcase in one hand and a revolver pointed directly at Julian’s chest in the other.
“Don’t move,” the man said smoothly, stepping into the dim light. “The Architect sends his regards.”
