Chapter 23 - The Ghost's Ledger
The manor's alarm sirens finally began to wail, piercing through the damp, smoke-filled air.
Arthur knew the local authorities would arrive within twenty minutes, alerted by the structural seismic sensors wired into the cliffside.
He couldn't afford to let Julian talk to the police first.
The corruption that Julian had seeded eight years ago ran deep into the county sheriff’s department.
Arthur dragged Julian through the rear service corridor, toward the private underground wine cellar that had survived the blasts.
Lily followed closely behind, holding a flashlight she had retrieved from the kitchen counter.
Her little face was smeared with gray soot, but her eyes were sharp, observant, and eerily calm.
"In here," Arthur said, shoving Julian into a climate-controlled room lined with heavy oak racks.
He dropped Julian onto a low wooden bench and secured the heavy iron bolt on the door behind them.
Julian slumped forward, groaning as he cradled his swollen knee.
Arthur turned to his daughter. "Lily, sit by the table. Are you hurt anywhere?"
Lily shook her head, holding out her small hands. "Only dusty, Daddy. But Clara left her bag."
Arthur blinked, looking down at what Lily was holding.
In her hands was a small, water-resistant leather satchel that Clara had dropped during the scuffle on the terrace.
Arthur took the satchel with trembling hands.
He unzipped the main compartment and pulled out a stack of documents bound by black ribbon.
On top of the stack was a personal leather-bound diary with the initials *E. V.* embossed in worn gold leaf.
"Eleanor’s journal," Arthur whispered.
He opened the first page, immediately recognizing the delicate, sloping handwriting of the woman he had loved.
The entry was dated six months ago, exactly three days before Eleanor had supposedly vanished from the city.
*Julian found me,* the page read. *He told me Arthur’s company was built on blood money from our father’s estate. He says Arthur knows where the real vaults are.*
Arthur's heart contracted in his chest.
"She thought I was lying to her," Arthur muttered, looking up at Julian with blazing eyes. "You poisoned her mind against me before you ever laid a hand on her."
Julian let out a bitter, raspy chuckle from the shadows of the bench.
"She was naive, Arthur. Just like you," Julian sneered. "She actually believed people could change."
Arthur flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning frantically until he reached an entry dated the night of her disappearance.
The handwriting on that page was erratic, smeared with drops of dark ink.
*Clara isn't trying to help me escape Julian,* the journal read. *She made a deal with him. They're going to use my face.*
May you like
Arthur looked up, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.
"What does she mean by that, Julian?" Arthur demanded, stepping toward him. "Use her face for what?"
