Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Pen
Julian stared at the phone screen as a chill crawled down his spine. The message remained stark against the black display: Did she drink it all, little brother?
His fingers hovered over the glass, but replying would confirm his possession of the phone and tip off the sender. He immediately forwarded the number to Mark, his trusted head of private cybersecurity, attached with a strict instruction: Trace this origin. Do not log it into company servers.
Clara was barely clinging to life in the hospital, poisoned by a lethal compound, while ghosts from three years ago were sending sadistic inquiries to his personal line. Julian walked over to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in his study. Behind the leather-bound volumes of maritime law lay a biometric wall safe. He scanned his thumb, and the heavy metal panel swung open silently.
Inside rested Clara’s personal journal, which she had entrusted to him shortly before her sudden decline in health six months ago. At the time, she had claimed it contained her family’s real estate assets, asking him to keep it secure from corporate vultures. Julian had respected her privacy and never opened it.
Now, he laid the dark leather diary on the desk and unclasped the brass lock.
The early pages were filled with innocent architectural sketches and reflections on their early arranged marriage. But flipping toward the recent entries, the tone turned dark and erratic.
August 12: Eleanor knows. She watches my meals. She insists on pouring my tea herself. I can feel my legs weakening day by day.
August 28: I found the offshore accounts. The accident was staged. Victor didn't drown; he was paid off to disappear because the board was onto the fraud. But Eleanor couldn't let him stay gone. He's back for the Vance Trust.
September 4: Julian knows nothing. He thinks his brother was a saint and his mother is a guardian. If I tell him, Victor will destroy him before the transition is complete. I have to find the ledger at Blackwood Docks.
Julian gripped the edge of the desk, his vision blurring. Clara’s paralysis had not been a chronic neurological illness—it had been a calculated, progressive poisoning to keep her confined, silent, and helpless.
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A soft knock at the study door shattered the heavy silence. Julian slipped the journal inside his coat and unlocked the door. Lin stood outside, pale and holding Clara’s coat.
""Master Julian,"" Lin whispered fearfully. ""Madame Eleanor just ordered the security team to wipe the hallway cameras.""
