Chapter 12 - The Architect in the High-Rise Office
Daniel did not rush or scream.
The trial had taught him that blind rage was the easiest weapon an enemy could use against him.
He walked back into the kitchen, his face a calm mask of fatherly patience.
Mason was eating his second pancake, swinging his legs rhythmically beneath the breakfast stool.
"Hey Mason, Aunt Caroline is going to pick you up in an hour for your art class, okay?"
Mason looked up, syrup smeared on his chin.
"Can we go to the park afterward?"
"You can stay with her all afternoon, buddy," Daniel said, kissing the top of his head.
"Dad has some paperwork to sign downtown."
An hour later, Caroline arrived, giving Daniel a knowing, worried look.
She had already seen the photo of the bank audit Daniel had texted her.
"Is it true, Daniel?" Caroline whispered at the door while Mason gathered his jacket.
"Every word of it," Daniel replied quietly, his voice dangerously level.
"Keep Mason with you, Caroline."
"Keep him inside your house, lock the gate, and do not answer calls from Julian."
Daniel drove his SUV through the bustling downtown traffic of the city.
The glass towers of the financial district gleamed under the midday sun.
He parked in the underground garage of the Hayes Legal Group.
Julian Hayes occupied the forty-second floor of the city's most prestigious corporate skyscraper.
Daniel rode the elevator in silence, his fingers curled into tight fists inside his coat pockets.
The elevator chimed, opening into a polished marble reception foyer.
"Mr. Vance, welcome!" Julian’s receptionist smiled warmly.
"Mr. Hayes is reviewing briefs, but I can tell him you’re here."
"No need, Clara," Daniel said gently.
"I know the way."
Daniel pushed open the heavy mahogany double doors of Julian’s corner office.
Julian was sitting behind an enormous glass-topped desk, on the phone, laughing casually.
He glanced up, startled, then immediately hung up the receiver.
"Daniel! My man, you should have called! How is Mason doing after the garden party anniversary?"
Julian stood up, smoothing his tailored suit, extending a warm hand.
Daniel did not take it.
Daniel walked directly to the desk, pulled out the certified estate audit, and laid it flat across the glass.
Julian’s smile twitched, but remained frozen in place.
"What’s this, Daniel?"
"That is the paper trail showing four hundred and twelve thousand dollars leaving Mason's trust," Daniel said softly.
Julian didn't look at the document; he looked at Daniel's eyes.
"Daniel, estate audits have discrepancies all the time—"
"Don't lie to me, Julian," Daniel interrupted, his voice dropping an octave.
"Diane’s personal notebook was seized during the state forensic sweep."
"Her handwritten notes mention you by name."
"They mention conservatorship papers you drew up to put Mason into a private sanatorium in Vermont."
The color drained entirely from Julian’s face.
He slowly sank back into his leather executive chair.
The charming, loyal family lawyer vanished, replaced by a hollow shell of a cornered man.
"Daniel... you don't understand the financial pressure I was under," Julian stammered.
"Vanessa found out about my offshore debts."
"She came to me with Diane after Emily died."
"They had medical files that could have ruined my license."
"So you agreed to destroy my six-year-old son?" Daniel stepped forward, his palms slamming against the glass desk.
The crack echoed through the room like a gunshot.
"You watched me break down in tears in this very room, and you were helping them plan Mason's imprisonment?"
Julian began to tremble, his polished veneer shattering into pathetic panic.
"I didn't know about the collar, Daniel! I swear to God, I never agreed to physical abuse!"
"That was Diane's sick invention to make the boy look wild on camera!"
"Where is the money, Julian?" Daniel demanded.
Julian looked toward the closed door of his private executive bathroom.
"It’s not in an account, Daniel," Julian whispered hoarsely.
"Vanessa never kept the money."
"She didn't take it for herself."
"Then who has Emily's money?" Daniel roared.
Julian swallowed hard, his eyes darting toward the window.
"A woman named Rebecca Vance."
May you like
"Your father’s second wife."
"The woman you thought died ten years ago."
