Chapter 13 - THE INHERITANCE THAT WAS NEVER WRITTEN
The silence between the threshold and the courtyard was heavier than iron.
Arthur Sterling-Vane leaned slightly on his ivory-tipped cane, his gray eyes assessing Christian from head to foot.
"You have your mother's temper, Christian," Arthur said, his voice deep, dry, and resonant.
"And your father’s complete lack of perspective."
"You died thirty years ago in the waters of Brittany," Christian replied, not offering a hand, not stepping aside.
"A convenient bureaucratic fiction," Arthur countered, stepping forward until the tip of his cane touched the brass threshold plate.
"One that cost your father five million francs to maintain with the maritime prefect."
"Leopold wanted me erased because I discovered what he buried under the foundation of Sterling House."
Julian spoke from behind Christian’s shoulder.
"You didn't discover a secret, Mr. Vane," Julian said, his clear voice slicing through the rain.
"You blackmailed Leopold with forged contracts until he paid you to disappear."
Arthur’s eyes shifted down to the boy, pausing with genuine surprise.
"Ah," Arthur murmured, an amused glint flickering in his cold stare.
"The stray Leopold’s son picked up off the pavement."
"The boy with the camera."
"I don't need a camera to see what is already documented in the Canton of Geneva's public land registry," Julian retorted.
"The 1994 testamentary deed you filed requires a living direct male descendant recognized by a court within twenty-four months of the testator's passing."
"You missed that deadline by twenty-eight years."
Elena Rousseau took half a step forward, her umbrella dripping water onto the limestone.
"The deadline was tolled under force majeure," Elena stated sharply.
"Because Leopold withheld the death certificates and actively falsified the offshore registries."
"We filed an injunction this morning in federal district court."
"Sterling House is now under provisional receivership."
Christian stepped forward, closing the remaining space between himself and Arthur.
"No court in this country enters this house without a signed warrant from the chief judge of the appellate division," Christian warned.
"And you won't get one based on thirty-year-old waterlogged rumors."
Arthur smiled, a chillingly hollow expression.
"I don't need a judge to enter this house, Christian," Arthur whispered.
"I already have a key."
Arthur reached into his coat pocket and withdrew an antique brass key with a double-notched bit.
It was identical to the master vault key Leopold had kept locked inside the study floor safe.
Christian knew that key had been buried with his father’s personal effects in the family mausoleum.
"Where did you get that?" Christian’s voice dropped to a lethal register.
"Your father didn't take it to the grave," Arthur said, tilting his head toward Elena.
"Clara took it out of your study safe the very night she faked her second ultrasound."
"You searched her bags, Christian."
"You searched her vanity, her closets, her shoe boxes."
"You forgot to search the one place she visited before your men escorted her off the property."
Christian’s mind raced through the night of Clara’s exposure.
The screaming, the silicone prosthetic falling to the rug, the panic, the police arriving at dawn.
Julian’s eyes suddenly widened.
May you like
"The grandfather clock in the main gallery," Julian whispered to Christian.
"She rested her hand on the base while she was crying."
