Chapter 4 - The Dinner Trap
The next evening, just as I was packing up my briefcase to leave the hospital, my phone rang again. It wasn't Victoria this time. It was an unfamiliar local number with a text message attached.
“If you want to settle the estate dispute like adults without involving lawyers and police, meet me at the Harbor View Restaurant tonight at 8:00 PM. Come alone. – Julian.”
I stared at the screen. Meeting Julian alone sounded like a terrible idea, a trap wrapped in politeness. But my mind raced back to Patterson’s words: We need concrete evidence. If Julian was willing to meet me and say something incriminating on a hidden recording device, it could provide the exact proof we needed to trigger the forfeiture clause in Dad’s codicil.
I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out a small digital voice recorder—a relic from old board meetings that I kept for dictating quick memos. I slipped it into the inner pocket of my blazer, ensuring the microphone opening was clear of fabric.
Harbor View was an upscale seafood restaurant situated at the edge of the city’s marina. At eight o’clock, the establishment was dimly lit, filled with the soft clinking of crystal glasses and the murmur of wealthy patrons.
I spotted Julian sitting in a secluded booth near the back window, nursing a glass of scotch. He looked up as I approached, his expression devoid of the bright, superficial charm he usually wore in public.
“You actually came,” Julian said, gesturing to the empty leather seat across from him. “I’m surprised. Thought you’d be too busy cowering behind your lawyer.”
I slid into the booth, keeping my distance, and made sure my blazer was unbuttoned so the recorder could pick up every word clearly.
“Cut to the chase, Julian,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Why am I here? Where is Victoria?”
Julian took a slow sip of his scotch, setting the glass down with a sharp click against the dark wood table. “Victoria is at home, crying her eyes out because her entire life is falling apart over your stubbornness. Do you have any idea what kind of humiliation we’re facing? The invitations are already mailed. The caterers are locked in. And you’re sitting on money that rightfully belongs to her wedding.”
“It belongs to both of us equally,” I replied. “Your financial mismanagement isn’t my responsibility, Julian.”
Julian leaned forward across the table, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. The polished facade vanished completely, revealing the desperate, aggressive opportunist underneath.
“Listen to me, you ungrateful little bureaucrat,” Julian hissed, keeping his voice low enough not to attract the attention of neighboring tables. “You think you won because of some piece of paper? Victoria is my wife-to-be. What’s hers is mine, and what’s yours should be hers. If you don’t sign that disclaimer by tomorrow morning, things are going to get a lot worse than a tumble down a flight of stairs.”
My pulse spiked. “Are you admitting you know about the stairs? Are you admitting that was intentional?”
Julian smirked, a cruel, mocking curve of his lips. “I’m saying accidents happen to people who don't know their place. And if you think a hospital CEO can survive a sudden, catastrophic scandal—embezzlement allegations, medical board investigations, leaked confidential records—think again. We have friends in high places, and we can ruin you overnight.”
I felt the digital recorder whirring quietly in my pocket, capturing every syllables of his threat, every syllable of his admission.
“Is that a promise?” I asked coldly.
May you like
“It’s a guarantee,” Julian replied, standing up abruptly. He tossed a twenty-dollar bill onto the table to cover his drink, glared down at me with pure hatred, and walked out of the restaurant without looking back.
I sat alone in the booth for several minutes, my hands trembling slightly as I reached into my pocket and turned off the recorder. The evidence was secured. The trap had closed, but not on me.
