Chapter 9 - The Invitation
The envelope arrived on a Tuesday. It was heavy, cream-colored, and bore no return address—only a wax seal stamped with an emblem I hadn't seen in over a decade: a serpent coiled around a broken column.
It was the signature of the "Old Guard," the silent partners who had once whispered instructions into Julian’s ear before I had pulled the rug out from under them. They hadn't been destroyed in my purge because they had been smart enough to stay in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to re-emerge.
“The Vance seat remains vacant, Leo,” the letter read in elegant, cold script. “The empire is currently a collection of fragments, but the foundation remains. We do not want the man who failed. We want the one who was forged in the fire of his undoing. Come to the summit in Geneva. Inherit what is rightfully yours.”
I watched as Leo read the letter. I expected him to burn it, just as I had burned the original Vance contracts. Instead, he folded it neatly and placed it on the table.
"They think I'm a successor," Leo said, his expression unreadable. "They think because I share his blood, I share his hunger."
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"You don't have to go," I said, my hand instinctively reaching for his shoulder. "We have enough. We have a life. You can be anyone you want."
"I know," he said, and for the first time, he smiled—a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "But think about it, Mom. If I go, I don't just see them. I see all of them. The ones who pulled the strings. If I walk into that room, I'm not going to inherit the throne. I’m going to dismantle the entire foundation of the building they’re sitting in."
