Chapter 3 - The Empty Mansion
Julian lunged.
It wasn't a calculated strike this time; it was the wild, animalistic thrashing of a cornered predator. He vaulted over a velvet armchair, arms outstretched, aiming directly for Samuel Price’s throat.
He didn't make it.
Uncle Raymond—realizing with sudden, terrifying clarity that backing Julian meant sharing his legal liability—grabbed the back of Julian’s suit jacket and yanked him backward with surprising strength. At the same time, the second bank investigator, a burly former federal marshal named Vance, stepped in front of Samuel, hooking his arm around Julian’s collar and driving him down onto the floorboards with a dull thud.
“Touch an officer of the court or legal counsel again, and you’ll spend tonight in a holding cell instead of your own bed,” Vance said, his voice flat and iron-hard.
Julian thrashed against the floor, his face pressed against the dust, his suit jacket tearing at the seam. “Get off me! You can't do this! This is my house! I own this estate! Dad promised me everything!”
I stepped forward, my shoes clicking softly against the floor. I looked down at my brother—the golden boy, the charismatic savior of the family name, now reduced to a sobbing, sputtering mess on the floor.
“You don't own anything, Julian,” I said quietly.
I reached into the pocket of my black dress and pulled out a fresh, crisp legal document, stamped with the county clerk’s official raised seal.
“Three months ago, when Dad realized what you were doing to his accounts, he didn't call the police immediately,” I explained, letting the words sink into every relative watching from the doorway. “He wanted to give you a chance to stop. When you didn't, he didn't just lock the accounts. He dissolved the family corporation, placed this house into an irrevocable charitable trust, and appointed me as the sole managing trustee.”
Julian froze, lifting his head from the floor. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with pure venom. “You... you tricked him. You manipulated a dying old man!”
“No, Julian,” Samuel Price said, adjusting his glasses as Vance hauled Julian back up onto his feet and shoved him toward the hallway. “He protected his legacy. And as of three minutes ago, the trust has officially revoked your right of residency on this property.”
Samuel turned to Serena, who was trembling against the fireplace mantel, her diamond necklace suddenly looking like cheap glass. “Mrs. Sterling, you and your husband have exactly forty-two minutes to pack your personal belongings and vacate the premises. The locks are being changed at noon.”
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“You can’t do this!” Serena shrieked, shedding her haughty composure like a torn coat. “Where are we supposed to go? Our apartment in the city is already under foreclosure! We have debts!”
“That,” I said, turning my back on them as I walked toward the window overlooking the overgrown rose garden our father had loved so much, “sounds like a personal problem.”
