Chapter 8 - The Interrogation
Julian leaned against the closed study doors, his tailored tuxedo jacket unbuttoned, a snub-nosed revolver resting casually in his right hand.
His face was carved from pale marble, completely drained of the civilized charm he displayed to high society.
Clara did not drop the papers.
She held the birth certificate firmly between her fingers, meeting his predatory gaze with ice.
"You never had legal custody," she said evenly, her voice cutting through the heavy room.
"You forged the coroner’s report in Louisiana, and you bribed Isaac Sterling to sign off on a phantom death."
Julian chuckled softly, a hollow, humorless sound that rattled in his throat.
"Who is going to believe a runaway servant with a documented history of clinical depression?"
"The press?"
"The police?"
"Every judge in this state owes their seat to my family’s campaign contributions."
"I don't need a judge, Julian," Clara said, stepping slowly around the desk.
"I only need the Vance Family Trust committee."
Julian’s smile vanished instantly, the barrel of the revolver lifting two inches higher.
The Vance dynasty was governed by a strict generational trust established by Julian’s late grandfather.
Under the terms of the charter, any heir involved in public felony fraud or moral turpitude was automatically stripped of voting shares in favor of the next living bloodline.
If Julian was exposed as a criminal kidnapper, the entire five-billion-dollar empire would bypass him completely and fall directly to Leo—under the oversight of his legal guardian.
"You think you’re walking out of here alive with those papers?" Julian whispered, his thumb slowly drawing back the revolver's hammer.
"I don't have to walk out with them," Clara replied softly.
"Because Mrs. Gable already couriered certified copies to the family trustees twenty minutes ago."
Julian’s eyes dilated with sheer panic.
He lunged forward across the desk, grabbing Clara by the collar of her maid uniform.
Before he could speak, the study doors burst open with a violent crash.
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Victoria Sterling stood in the entrance, her emerald gown shimmering under the chandelier light, her eyes burning with feral fury.
"You pathetic coward," Victoria hissed, looking not at Clara, but straight into Julian’s guilty eyes.
