Chapter 5 - The Secret Ledger
The assassination of Thomas Gable proved one undeniable fact to Adrian Vale: the enemy was not an external rival gang operating in the dark. It was someone inside his own inner circle—someone who knew the exact layout of the estate's security grid, including the blind spots of the basement ventilation shafts.
Upstairs in the private study, Adrian slammed his fist onto his mahogany desk.
"They silenced him before he could give us a name," Vance reported, standing rigidly before the desk. "The sniper rifle was found abandoned near the northern perimeter fence. It was wiped clean of prints."
"What about the security logs?" Adrian asked, his eyes cold.
"Someone overrode the server logs for thirty minutes during the shift change," Vance admitted, his jaw tight. "Only three people have the master administrator override code: myself, Head Housekeeper Margaret Sloan, and your late wife's brother, Julian Vance."
Adrian went completely still.
Julian. His brother-in-law. A man who had lived in the east wing of the estate ever since Claire's fatal car crash three years ago, mourning his sister and managing the family's legitimate shipping assets.
"Bring Julian to the study," Adrian ordered.
Ten minutes later, the heavy oak doors opened, and Julian Vance stepped inside. He was impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit, silver hair neatly combed, holding a crystal glass of scotch.
"Adrian, I heard commotion downstairs," Julian said, his voice smooth and laced with practiced concern. "Is everything alright? The guards seem awfully jittery."
Adrian remained seated behind his desk. He didn't offer Julian a seat.
Instead, he slid a heavy, leather-bound accounting ledger across the polished wood.
"What is this?" Julian asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Claire's personal journal," Adrian said softly. "The one she kept locked in her private writing desk. The desk you insisted on clearing out yourself after her accident."
Julian's expression didn't change, but his fingers tightened slightly around the crystal glass. "Claire kept many journals. What makes this one special?"
"The entry from November twelfth," Adrian said, his gaze locked onto Julian's eyes. "Three days before her car went through the guardrail. She wrote that she discovered a series of fraudulent offshore transfers moving funds out of the Vale shipping accounts—transfers authorized by a secondary signature."
Adrian stood up slowly, walking around the desk until he stood just inches from his brother-in-law.
"A signature that belonged to you, Julian. She threatened to tell me that night. And then her brakes failed on a wet country road."
Julian let out a soft, humorless chuckle. He took a sip of his scotch. "Adrian, grief makes men paranoid. You've spent three years looking for ghosts. Claire's death was an accident."
"And Noah's poisoning?" Adrian asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Was putting neurotoxin under my son's pillow an accident too? Thomas Gable confessed before your sniper put a bullet through his heart."
Julian's smile vanished. The polite, grieving uncle dissolved, replaced by a cold, calculating greed.
"The boy had to inherit, Adrian," Julian said, his voice turning icy. "And while he was sick, you were distracted. While you were flying doctors across the oceans, I was quietly liquidating the family holdings. But the boy wouldn't die. His constitution was too strong. So we had to help nature along."
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Before Julian could finish his sentence, Adrian moved with terrifying speed. He seized Julian by the lapels of his suit and slammed him hard against the oak bookcase, sending heavy volumes crashing to the floor.
"You touch my son," Adrian hissed, pressing the cold barrel of his gun against Julian's temple, "and I will take apart everything you love piece by piece before I put you in the ground."
