Chapter 5: The Marina Rendezvous
The private yacht club marina was eerily quiet under the gray, overcast midday sky. Saltwater slapped against the hulls of multi-million-dollar vessels, creating a rhythmic, hollow percussion that echoed off the metal docks. Julianna stood leaning against the railing of the club's administrative office, wearing a cream trench coat over a silk turtleneck. Her long brown hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail, and she wore oversized sunglasses that hid her eyes, though her red-painted lips curved into a confident, self-satisfied smirk as she watched Eleanor and Mark approach down the wooden pier.
"I'm glad you both decided to be reasonable," Julianna said, her voice carrying easily over the wind. She did not offer a greeting, nor did she pretend to be polite. She crossed her arms, tapping a manicured fingernail against her sleeve. "The paperwork for the Westchester estate needs to be signed and notarized by three o'clock today, or the local authorities—and your friends on the corporate board—will receive copies of Arthur's lovely little confession."
Mark took a step forward, his hand reaching into his briefcase. "I have the preliminary transfer documents right here, Julianna. Just give me the letter. Let's end this cleanly."
Julianna laughed, a sharp, dismissive sound that caused a nearby seagull to take flight. "You think I'm stupid enough to carry the original document in my pocket, Mark? The letter is locked in a safety deposit box at the bank across town. You get the deed signed, and I’ll give you the key tomorrow morning. Take it or leave it." She tilted her head defiantly, secure in her belief that they had no other options left on the board.
Eleanor stopped a few feet away, her hands resting calmly inside the pockets of her charcoal trousers. She did not look at the briefcase, nor did she look at the transfer documents. Instead, she stared directly at the opaque lenses of Julianna’s sunglasses. "You made a critical mistake, Julianna, when you assumed Mark was the only person in this family with access to Arthur's private files," Eleanor said, her voice calm and steady against the rising wind.
May you like
Julianna’s smirk faltered slightly, the confidence in her posture stiffening. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about your nursing license in Chicago," Eleanor replied, stepping closer until the space between them vanished. "License number 44892. Revoked in 2019 following an investigation into the sudden alteration of Arthur Sterling's close friend, Robert Vance's estate. You thought scrubbing your digital footprint would protect you, but municipal courthouse records are remarkably stubborn things." Eleanor pulled a folded manila folder from her briefcase and held it out, not offering it to Julianna, but letting the younger woman see the official seal of the Illinois Department of Financial and Professional Regulation stamped across the top.
