Chapter 4 - The Courier’s Gift
Two minutes later, Marcus handed a heavy, manila envelope to Adrian. It was sealed with thick red wax bearing an imprint that made Adrian’s blood run cold—a crest he hadn't seen since the day of the funeral.
The crest of Julian Vance, his former business partner and childhood friend.
Julian Vance had inherited a minority stake in Marlowe Enterprises and had stood right beside Adrian at the gravesides, weeping tears that everyone believed were genuine. But six months after the tragedy, Julian had quietly sold his shares, relocated to Zurich, and cut all ties, claiming the grief was simply too heavy to bear in Bedford.
Adrian tore open the envelope with a precision knife Marcus handed him. Inside lay a single flash drive and a handwritten note on expensive linen paper.
Adrian read the words aloud in a low, dangerous whisper:
“Dear Adrian, If you are reading this, it means you finally left your mausoleum long enough to visit a hospital, or perhaps a child led you out of the dark. You spent four years blaming yourself for the fire, wondering if you left a candle burning, wondering if you could have broken through the locked study door faster. You couldn't have. Because the door wasn’t locked by accident. Check the financial logs of Marlowe Enterprises from the exact week before the fire. Look at who transferred five million dollars to an offshore account in the Cayman Islands under a shell corporation named ‘Vance & Cross.’ Look at who purchased industrial-grade chemical accelerant through a subsidiary. I didn’t want to kill Clara, Adrian. I just wanted you ruined so I could buy out your controlling shares for pennies. The fire… well, fires have a way of getting out of hand when the wind changes. I’m living in Monaco now. The weather is lovely. Try to catch me if you can.”
The room seemed to tilt sideways. Marcus caught the edge of the medical cart as he saw the absolute fury wash over Adrian’s face—a fury so pure and cold that it eclipsed anything he had shown in four years.
“Mr. Marlowe,” Marcus breathed. “Is that…?”
“Julian,” Adrian said, his voice dropping an octave into a low, terrifying rumble. “Julian Vance killed my family.”
Claire, watching from her bed, felt the terror radiating off the two men. She shrank back against her pillows, clutching her blanket. “Mr. Marlowe… what is happening?”
Adrian looked down at the note, then at the flash drive. The puzzle pieces of the last four years clicked into place with horrifying clarity. The manipulated safety inspections, the missing security footage from the night of the fire, the sudden retirement of the chief inspector—all orchestrated by the man he had trusted like a brother.
“Marcus,” Adrian said, slipping the flash drive into his pocket. “Call our legal team. Contact Interpol. And get hold of our private jet crew in White Plains. We are flying to Monaco tonight.”
“And the girl, sir?” Marcus asked, loyal to the core. “Lucy and her mother?”
May you like
Adrian looked at Claire, whose eyes were wide with fright and concern.
“They stay at the mansion,” Adrian declared firmly. “Under your personal protection, Marcus. No one touches a hair on their heads. If Julian thinks he can hide behind an ocean while my family’s ghosts cry out for justice, he is gravely mistaken.”
