Chapter 4
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed two solemn notes, slicing through the heavy silence of the study. Julian was pacing the Persian rug, his polished leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the wool, while Rebecca sat rigidly in a high-backed leather chair, reviewing the guest list from the gala on her phone. Every name represented a potential enemy, a sycophant, or a pawn in Beatrice’s elaborate game of social chess.
Suddenly, a sharp, discreet knock echoed at the heavy oak study door. Both froze. Julian stopped his pacing, his hand instinctively dropping toward the brass handle of the desk drawer where he kept a vintage revolver. Rebecca stood up slowly, her instincts on high alert.
“Who is it?” Julian called out, his voice tight and guarded.
“It’s Marcus, sir,” a muted voice replied from the hallway.
Julian exhaled a long breath of relief, quickly smoothing the velvet lapels of his jacket before unlocking the door. Marcus, the estate’s head of security, slipped into the room like a ghost. His graying temples and posture of quiet authority made him a fixture of the Vance household, someone who had seen every family secret buried over the past thirty years. He closed the door silently behind him, casting a cautious glance toward Rebecca.
“I thought you should see this before the morning shift arrives,” Marcus said, pulling a small, unlabelled flash drive from his pocket and placing it squarely on the mahogany desk.
Julian stared at the flash drive as if it were venomous. “What is this?”
“Unedited security footage from the western corridor,” Marcus explained, keeping his voice strictly professional. “Angles that the main ballroom monitors didn't broadcast to the wall-mounted TV. The system was briefly tampered with around ten o'clock, right before the toast. Someone wanted to ensure the blind spot covered the exact location where Mrs. Vance initiated the confrontation.”
Rebecca stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the small piece of plastic. “Tampered with? By whom?”
Marcus turned his gaze to Rebecca, his expression unreadable. “That’s the interesting part, Mrs. Vance. The system wasn't hacked from the outside. The override code used was registered to a master terminal located inside the private family quarters. Specifically, the master suite.”
Julian’s breath caught in his throat. The master suite belonged exclusively to Beatrice. The realization hung in the air like a physical weight, choking out any remaining doubt about the older woman’s involvement in the setup.
“My mother,” Julian whispered, the words tasting like ash.
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“She orchestrated the entire blind spot,” Rebecca said, her voice trembling slightly with vindication. “She needed the cameras to catch me opening the bag, but she couldn't risk the cameras showing who actually dropped the box into my clutch during the champagne toast.”
Marcus nodded slowly. “If you want to clear your name, sir, ma'am, we need to access that master terminal before Mr. Sterling’s legal team arrives at nine o'clock to seize the property records. Once they lock down the servers, any trace of the override will vanish permanently.”
