Chapter 27 - cold flint
Julian didn't look away from my face. He took a slow sip of the coffee, setting the cup down on the rusted desk with a dull, metallic thud.
"I didn't play dead to escape debts, Daniel," Julian said quietly. "I went underground because our father didn't die of a heart attack four years ago. He was poisoned."
The cold air in the carriage house seemed to lock in my lungs. "What?"
"The senior partners on the board—Vance and Sterling—were bleeding the firm's pension funds to cover their offshore shipping losses," Julian continued, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a second silver lighter—identical to the one I carried in my jacket. "Father discovered the discrepancy three weeks before he died. When he threatened to go to the federal prosecutors, Vance adjusted his heart medication."
Julian flipped open the second silver lighter with a sharp, familiar clack. He spun the flint wheel. A bright yellow flame leaped up, casting long, dancing shadows across his scarred face.
"I knew if I stayed in the firm, they would kill me too," Julian said, watching the flame dance above the steel casing. "So I staged the crash. I spent three years tracing Vance's shell companies through five different countries. Nora wasn't my housekeeper, Daniel. She was my researcher. She took the job in your house because Vance had started bugging your office, and I needed someone inside the estate whom I could trust with my life."
"And Chloe?" I asked, looking back toward the little girl sitting on the crate in the stable hall.
May you like
Julian's eyes softened slightly, the hard, icy glare fading for a brief second. "Chloe is my daughter, Dan. Her real name is Helena—named after our mother. I couldn't risk keeping her with me while I was living in industrial squats and abandoned warehouses. I needed her somewhere safe."
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the carriage house were blown inward with a loud, splintering crack.
