Chapter 3 - The Broken Prodigal
Julian was dripping wet from the sudden autumn downpour outside. His bespoke wool trench coat was soaked, clinging to his broad shoulders, and his hair was plastered across his pale forehead. He stopped dead at the entrance of the library, his bloodshot eyes darting between his mother, his uncle, and finally landing on Clara and the baby. The resemblance between Julian and the child was unmistakable—the same arch of the brow, the same piercing steel-gray eyes.
""Julian,"" Eleanor said, stepping forward with an anxious hand outstretched. ""Darling, be calm. Marcus is here. The legalities are being—""
""Shut up, Mother,"" Julian spat, brushing past her so violently she almost lost her footing again. He stopped just two feet from Clara, the scent of expensive gin and raw terror radiating from his skin. ""You took him.""
""I protected him,"" Clara said, refusing to back down, her fingers digging gently into Leo's onesie. ""You left us in that motel room in upstate New York while the debt collectors kicked the door in. You took the last three thousand dollars we had and vanished into Atlantic City.""
""I had to settle it! They would have killed you!"" Julian’s voice cracked, vibrating off the antique bookcases. ""And my father... the old bastard knew. He watched me sink, and instead of throwing me a rope, he handed my life over to a woman who left me!""
""Because you were going to kill us with your recklessness, Julian,"" Clara whispered, her voice dangerously steady. ""Now back away from my son.""
Julian stared down at Leo. The infant blinked back, entirely unaware of the rage vibrating between the two adults who gave him life. Julian's chest rose and fell in ragged heaves. Slowly, his hand reached into his damp coat pocket. Clara braced herself, ready to bolt.
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Instead of a weapon, Julian pulled out a sodden, waterlogged leather journal, tossing it onto Marcus's desk.
""You think you’ve won, Clara?"" Julian laughed, a dry, broken sound. ""My father didn't die of heart failure. He was poisoned. And that journal proves whose bank account bought the arsenic.""
