Chapter 8 - The Contract in Ashes
Julian never reached her. Marcus Cole stepped squarely between them, planting a broad, heavy palm against Julian’s chest and shoving him backward into the mahogany dining table. Crystal glasses shattered across the floor, splashing red wine like blood over Julian’s trousers.
""Touch her again and you leave this estate in handcuffs, Sterling,"" Marcus warned, his voice low and dangerous.
Julian scrambled back to his feet, wiping wine from his jacket, his chest heaving. ""You don't understand! The contracts are signed! The overseas proxy agreement was filed last week! I control seventy-two percent of the voting proxy!""
""You controlled it,"" Vance’s voice called out from the grand foyer entrance.
The old attorney walked into the room, flanked by two armed bailiffs from the State Appellate Court. Under his arm was an ancient, leather-bound volume embossed with gold foil—the founding charter of Vance Shipping Corp.
""Article Nine, Section Three,"" Vance announced, adjusting his reading glasses as he opened the ledger. ""In the event of physical endangerment or verified marital coercion perpetrated by a trustee spouse, all granted proxy voting rights are immediately revoked and reverted to the surviving Vance heir with absolute veto power.""
Eleanor rushed to Julian’s side, clutching his lapels desperately. ""Julian, do something! Call Uncle Robert! Tell him to freeze the accounts!""
""Uncle Robert's accounts in the Cayman Islands were seized two hours ago by the Federal Treasury,"" Marcus said dryly. ""It turns out your shell company was running stolen freight through our northern docks. Fraud, embezzlement, tax evasion, and now... aggravated domestic assault.""
Julian looked around the room. The foreign investors who had smiled at him thirty minutes ago were already backing away, whispering to their aides, tucking their tablets into leather briefcases and slipping out the side exits. Nobody wanted to be caught in the blast radius of a collapsing dynasty.
""Clara..."" Julian choked out, his arrogance crumbling into frantic pleading. He took a stumbling step toward her, his hands raised in surrender. ""Clara, listen to me. It was my mother. Eleanor drove me to it! She said we would lose everything if you woke up and checked the audits! I did it to protect our marriage!""
Eleanor whipped her head toward her son, utter betrayal in her eyes. ""Julian! How dare you!""
""Shut up, old woman!"" Julian screamed at his mother, completely unraveling before the entire room. ""You were the one who bought the clippers! You told me to hold her down!""
Clara stood in the center of the foyer, watching the two vipers tear each other apart. Not a flicker of pity crossed her features.
""Julian,"" Clara said softly, cutting through his screams.
He stopped, panting, looking at her with a desperate, pathetic hope. ""Yes, Clara? You know I love you. We can fix this. We can go away—""
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""You have ten minutes to pack one suitcase and leave this property,"" Clara said, her voice freezing the air. ""If you are still on Vance land when the clock strikes twelve, Inspector Harris will serve the warrants for attempted murder.""
Julian’s face went chalk-white. But behind his eyes, a desperate, cornered madness flickered to life.
