Chapter 2 - Shadows at the Gate
The white satin of Victoria’s train scraped against the flagstones as she lunged forward, trying to snatch the paper. Julian pivoted, shielding Maya with his body while tucking the document inside his tuxedo jacket. The tension was palpable; even the crickets in the manicured bushes seemed to have fallen silent.
“You signed this,” Julian stated, his voice a razor blade dipped in frost. “Her palliative authorization was signed by you. You told me you were in Chicago that entire weekend.”
“It’s a forgery! Anyone can forge a hospital log, Julian!” Victoria shrieked, the polished facade of the high-society socialite cracking down the middle. She glanced wildly toward the entrance hall where several wedding guests were beginning to poke their heads out, murmuring in confusion at the sudden absence of the groom. “Think about the foundation! Think about the merger! If you abandon this ceremony, the board will strip your voting rights before nightfall!”
Julian ignored her completely. He bent down and scooped Maya into his arms. Her little arms locked around his neck, burying her face into his collar. He could feel the rapid, frantic beat of her small heart against his chest.
He descended the porch steps, his polished dress shoes crunching against the gravel driveway. Every step carried him further from the multi-million-dollar gala, from the hundreds of expectant guests, and toward the iron gates where the black sedan waited.
Behind him, Victoria didn’t follow. Instead, she reached into the small beaded clutch hanging from her wrist, drew out an encrypted phone, and pressed speed dial. Julian heard her muffled, furious hiss through the quiet air: “He has the transfer record. Clean the clinic. Now.”
Julian quickened his pace. As he neared the heavy iron railings, the rear door of the sedan remained ajar. Inside sat an elderly woman in an immaculate charcoal wool suit—Madame Claire Vance, Elena’s estranged godmother and former high-court magistrate.
“Get in, Julian,” Claire said, her voice gravelly and firm. “Before her security detail realizes what she’s ordered them to do.”
“Where is Elena?” Julian demanded, his hand gripping the open door frame.
May you like
Claire looked past him, her weathered eyes locking onto the estate’s private security guards who had just burst through the side doors of the mansion with ear-pieces adjusted.
“Elena is dead, Julian,” Claire said coldly. “But she didn’t die of drowning. And she left three keys. The child is holding the second one.”
