Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Julian, holding the metal piece, walked toward his father's desk.

The massive desk. The worn green leather top.

Julian pulled each drawer.

All were unlocked. Inside were only old papers, rusted paperclips, pens long drained of ink.

“Not here,” he said.

He turned to the cedar sideboard.

It loomed in the corner of the room, dark and silent. Julian remembered that his mother had hated this piece. She always said it made the room smell like a coffin.

He approached it.

Lydia and Claire followed.

Martin remained standing in the middle of the room, as if nailed to the floor.

Julian ran his hand along the edge of the sideboard.

The wood was carved with raised floral bands. Roses. Oak leaves. And crisscrossing diamonds.

His finger stopped.

At the very bottom of the right-hand carving, there was a small hole. Tiny. Completely blending into the center of a carved rose.

He looked at the metal piece in his hand.

Then he inserted it.

It fit perfectly.

Julian turned it slightly.

A sharp click echoed. Not the sound of a standard lock, but the mechanical release of a latch.

The wooden panel on the side of the sideboard cracked open along a diagonal line.

It was not a drawer. It was a hidden compartment hollowed directly into the supporting wooden column.

Lydia brought a hand to her mouth.

Julian pulled the panel open.

Inside, there was no money. No gold. No jewelry.

Only a black leather-bound ledger. Thick. Old.

And a stack of yellowed envelopes.

Julian reached in and took the ledger out.

It was heavy.

He flipped to the first page.

His father’s handwriting. Bold. Clear. Arrogant.

Restoration & Reconstruction Fund - Recovery List.

Julian scanned the lines.

The first column was names.

The second column was addresses.

The third column was numbers.

But the fourth column was what made Julian stop breathing.

They were brief notes.

Forced bankruptcy.

Seized livelihood assets.

Threatened public exposure.

Julian turned another page. Then another.

Dozens, hundreds of names. Hundreds of families.

This house had not been bought with inherited money.

It had been bought with blood. With extortion. By bleeding dry people who had no power to fight back.

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And his mother's name was at the bottom of the fifth page.

Initialed. Approved.