Chapter 2 - The New Landlord
The glass of the penthouse windows was soundproofed against ocean squalls, but to Julian, the purr of the approaching motor seemed to reverberate directly inside his skull.
He rushed to the ledge, pressing his palms against the glass. The black Mercedes Maybach had stopped directly beneath the porte-cochère. From the rear passenger side stepped a man wearing an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, accompanied by two private security personnel carrying leather document folios.
"Who is that?" Julian whispered, squinting against the blinding sunlight. "Brianna, who did she sell it to?"
Brianna remained rooted to the marble, her gaze darting between the elevator where Eleanor had vanished and the balcony view. Her breath caught in her throat. She recognized the silhouette even before the driver handed the man his walking cane.
"Marcus," she breathed, her hand flying to her mouth.
Julian whipped his head around. "Marcus? Marcus Sterling? Your ex-husband?"
"He wasn't supposed to be in the country," Brianna stammered, backing away from the window as though the glass itself were scorching hot. "He was in Singapore. His company went through restructuring—he was ruined two years ago!"
"Evidently, rumors of his ruin were grossly exaggerated," Eleanor’s voice sounded coolly from the elevator vestibule. The elevator doors had opened, but Eleanor had not entered yet. Instead, the doors of the private express car chimed, sliding open to reveal Marcus Sterling himself.
Marcus was thirty-eight, with silver-threaded dark hair cut razor-short and eyes the color of winter rain. He stepped out onto the foyer tile, resting both hands on the silver handle of his cane. He did not look at Julian. He barely spared Brianna a glance. His attention went straight to Eleanor.
"Mrs. Vance," Marcus said, bowing his head with crisp respect. "The wire transfer cleared four minutes ago. Escrow is officially closed. Thank you for the expedited terms."
"The pleasure was mine, Marcus," Eleanor replied smoothly. "The keys, access fobs, and security codes are on the kitchen island. I trust you'll find the view as invigorating as I always did."
"I am certain of it," Marcus said. Only then did his cold eyes drift over toward the center of the vast living room, settling upon Brianna, who stood shivering in her strapless orange dress. "Hello, Brianna. It appears you have an affinity for taking things that do not belong to you. First my investment capital, and now Mrs. Vance’s real estate."
"Marcus, please," Brianna pleaded, taking a half-step forward, her voice trembling with an artificial sweetness that sickened Julian. "We can talk about this. There was a misunderstanding. Julian and I were just—"
"Julian is a trespasser," Marcus interrupted, his tone completely flat. He signaled to the two private guards behind him. "And so are you. As the sole owner of Penthouse 42-A, I am revoking your guest privileges immediately. You have ten minutes to clear your personal effects from the foyer. Anything beyond that line will be considered abandoned property."
"You can't do this!" Julian yelled, his pride roaring back in an ugly surge of panic. "I am a Vance! My father’s name is on half the buildings in this city!"
"Your father’s name was Arthur Vance," Marcus said quietly, producing a folded document from his coat pocket. "A great man. A man who, shortly before his death, signed a personal guaranty on my logistics firm to protect it from hostile takeovers. Did you honestly think your mother spent the last six months doing nothing while you drained company accounts for sports cars?"
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Marcus tossed the paper onto the glass coffee table. Julian lunged forward, reading the headline in horror. It was a debt consolidation agreement transferring Julian’s future inheritance shares directly to Sterling Capital as collateral for unpaid maritime liabilities.
"You're broke, Julian," Marcus whispered. "And you have eight minutes left."
