Chapter 3 - Shadows from the Past
Viktor Vance did not knock. Men like Viktor did not wait for invitations, especially when they believed the empire of Lakehurst was ripe for the taking.
Arthur Bell intercepted him in the grand foyer, his posture rigid as a monolith. The elderly house manager had served the Moretti family for forty years, and he possessed a quiet, unyielding courage that had seen him through gang wars and corporate bloodbaths alike.
"Mr. Vance," Arthur said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. "Mr. Moretti is not receiving visitors."
Viktor smiled, a cold, predatory stretching of thin lips. He adjusted his cuffs, revealing a diamond-encrusted watch that gleamed under the crystal chandelier.
"Arthur, my old friend. Still playing the loyal hound, are we? Julian has been locked away in that west-wing tomb for over two years. The board of Moretti Holdings is restless. The shipping ports in the north are bleeding money, and the council wants to know if our boss is still breathing or just a vegetable collecting dust."
"Mr. Moretti is fully capable of managing his affairs," Arthur replied smoothly, though a bead of cold sweat tracked down his spine. He knew Viktor was the architect behind the hostile takeover attempts—and quite possibly the sniper fire that crippled Julian in the first place. There was no direct proof, but in their world, proof was a luxury for the dead.
"Let's go see for ourselves," Viktor said, stepping past Arthur with a casual arrogance. His bodyguards moved to follow, but Arthur didn't flinch.
"Take another step, Vance, and you'll find out why the east lawn has so many hidden drainage pipes," Arthur warned softly.
Viktor paused, his eyes narrowing into slits. He studied the old man for a long moment, then let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Still got teeth, I see. Fine. I'll wait in the study. Tell Julian that an old partner wants to discuss the future."
Meanwhile, down in the west wing, Julian had successfully completed three agonizing sets on the parallel bars. Exhausted, his shirt soaked through, he sank back into his wheelchair, breathing heavily.
Dr. Bennett packed her medical bag with a proud smile. "That was extraordinary, Julian. Your core strength is coming back faster than I anticipated."
"Don't flatter yourself, Doc. My arms just got tired of being useless," Julian muttered, though a faint trace of satisfaction danced in his dark eyes.
Ellie crawled down from the bench, carefully clutching her stuffed rabbit. "Can we go find Mommy? She promised to share her apple slices."
Julian chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that warmed the room. "Go ahead, kid. She's probably in the kitchen."
As Ellie skipped out the door, the intercom on Julian's desk chimed. Arthur’s voice came through, tense and clipped.
"Boss. We have an uninvited guest in the main study."
Julian’s relaxed demeanor vanished in an instant. The warmth in his eyes hardened into jagged flints of ice. The old crime boss was back.
"Who?" Julian asked, his voice dropping an octave into a dangerous register.
"Viktor Vance."
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Julian stared at the monitor on his desk showing the hallway outside the study. He saw Viktor pacing near the framed photographs, looking at the walls with a sneer. Then, Julian’s blood ran cold.
Down the corridor, skipping along with her rabbit held high, came Ellie. She was heading straight for the main study.
