Chapter 26
Julian stood up slowly, picking up the small silver music box from the table. He held it in the palm of his hand, looking down at the tarnished metal with a look of profound, detached fascination.
"Our father was a hypocrite," Julian said quietly, his voice carrying that hypnotic, melodic cadence he used when convincing investors to surrender millions. "He preached honor and tradition to us while secretly funneling forty percent of the family estate into a private trust for a woman who lived in a cramped apartment in Cambridge. When he died, I found his private diaries in the safe behind his study."
He looked up at me, his eyes narrowing into sharp, dark slits. "Do you know what he wrote about me on my eighteenth birthday, Clara? He wrote that I was cold. He wrote that I lacked empathy. He wrote that he feared what I would do to the family legacy if he didn't divide the estate equally between you, me, and Eleanor."
"He was right," I said flatly.
"He was a fool," Julian corrected, his tone dropping into a hard, metallic whisper. "He thought love and equality build empires. They don't. Discipline builds empires. Fear builds empires. I took Eleanor's inheritance because she didn't have the strength to hold it. And I brought her here so she would never be able to use it against me."
He stepped closer to me, holding out the silver music box. "I’ve had this box for four years. My engineers have tried to open the internal mechanism without destroying the glass micro-drive inside, but the lock is linked to a pressurized chemical vial. If you force the lock, the vial breaks, and the data dissolves in acid."
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"And you think Eleanor will give you the combination?" I asked, glaring at him with pure disgust.
"She will," Julian smiled—that horrific, flawless smile that made my skin crawl. "Because if she doesn't, Marcus Croft will release the medical records from her stay at the private clinic three years ago. Records that show she was admitted for severe self-harm and cognitive disassociation. No judge in this country will give custody of a three-year-old child to a mother with those records, Clara. She will hand over the key, or she will never see Maya again."
