Chapter 3 - Footsteps in the Foyer
The sudden violence of the front door echoing through the mansion caused Elena to cry out, pulling the baby closer to her heart. Julian spun around, shielding his wife and child with his body, his pulse hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Two men in dark suits stepped through the archway, flanking the entrance. Behind them walked Detective Marcus Vance, a man Julian had known for over a decade through the city’s philanthropic boards. Vance’s coat was soaked from the sudden torrential rain outside, water dripping from the brim of his hat onto the pristine hardwood floor.
"Julian," Vance said, his tone grim, lacking the familiar warmth of their past encounters. "Step away from the counter, please. Keep your hands where we can see them."
"Marcus? What is the meaning of this?" Julian demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and panic. "Someone broke into my house! Someone took files from my study and threatened my family!"
"We didn't come because of a break-in, Julian," Vance replied calmly, his eyes flicking toward Beatrice, who offered a brief, polite nod of acknowledgment. "We came because of a hit-and-run on the lower mountain road ten minutes ago."
Elena let out a stifled sob. "A hit-and-run? What does that have to do with us? Julian just got home from the city hospital!"
"The vehicle involved was registered to this address," Vance stated, pulling a damp notepad from his inner pocket. "A black luxury sedan. The driver fled the scene on foot, but the victim was pronounced dead on arrival."
Julian’s world tilted. His mind raced back to the open garage door when he had arrived—the empty space where his mother’s secondary car was usually parked. He turned slowly toward Beatrice, whose eyes remained fixed on Vance with terrifying serenity.
"Who was the victim, Detective?" Beatrice asked smoothly, her voice a calm river running through a ruined landscape. "Tell my son who died on that asphalt."
Vance hesitated, glancing between the matriarch and the young couple huddled by the counter. "The deceased carried no identification, Mrs. Sterling. Only a hospital bracelet from the psychiatric ward upstate. And a handwritten note bearing Julian’s name."
Julian felt the air leave his lungs entirely. "A note? What did it say?"
May you like
Vance flipped the page of his notebook, his jaw tightening. "It said: He took my son once. Now he will pay with his own."
As the detective finished reading, Elena dropped the linen cloth. Her eyes locked onto the baby's blanket, noticing for the first time a faint smear of crimson grease along the hem of the swaddle—a mark that hadn't been there when they left the maternity ward.
