Chapter 2 - The Heir's Arrival
Julian’s laughter carried across the front lawn before his boots even hit the gravel. To him, an emergency summons to the estate was simply another tedious formality before the wire transfer cleared. He was thirty-five, dressed in an unstructured cashmere blazer, his face carrying the soft, handsome complacency of a boy who had never been told no by anyone except the woman who raised him.
“Mother!” Julian called out, pushing the heavy oak doors open with his shoulder. “Victoria texted me from the driveway. She said you’ve locked yourself in again. We have the appraisers from Sotheby’s arriving in an hour. Be reasonable.”
He froze when he saw Robert standing behind the desk. The lawyer’s presence was an anomaly; Julian’s personal legal team usually handled estate matters from a glass tower in the city. When Julian’s gaze dropped to the swelling along Evelyn’s cheek, the smirk faded, replaced by an uneasy annoyance.
“What happened to your face?” he asked, stepping closer. “Did you slip on the terrace? I told you six months ago we need to hire full-time nursing staff. You’re becoming a liability to yourself.”
“Your wife struck me, Julian,” Evelyn said simply, her hands resting quietly on the desk.
Julian’s face tightened. He blinked twice, his jaw shifting as he calculated the social and financial ramifications rather than the physical reality. “Don’t be dramatic, Mother. Victoria was raised in Palm Beach; she doesn’t strike people. She probably tried to steady you and you pulled away. You’ve always hated her family.”
“She stood on that porch, demanded the master keys, and slapped me when I told her this house does not belong to you,” Evelyn continued, her voice level, utterly stripped of maternal warmth.
Julian let out a dry, dismissive breath. “Well, legally speaking, the estate passes to the trust upon my thirty-fifth birthday, which was last Tuesday. It is my house, Mother. Victoria is under enormous pressure with the foundation gala. You provoked her. Apologize to each other, let the appraisers do their walk-through, and we will find you an exquisite bungalow near the coast.”
May you like
Robert stepped forward, sliding a crisp, single-page injunction toward Julian’s side of the desk. “Mr. Vance, your mother holds life tenancy with absolute power of revocation under Section 14 of your grandfather’s charter. The trust does not mature until her death—or upon her explicit waiver, which was conditioned on filial conduct.”
Julian looked down at the legal document, the red wax seal catching the afternoon light. His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Victoria, texting him a photo of an empty safe deposit box in town, accompanied by four panicked question marks.
