Chapter 8
Chapter 9
The ledger slipped from Julian’s hand.
It hit the Persian rug with a heavy thud.
Lydia knelt to pick it up.
She looked at the open page. Her stare was fixed.
“My God,” she whispered.
Claire crossed her arms, hugging herself as if the room’s temperature had just dropped below freezing.
Julian looked back at Martin.
He was staring at the ledger.
“Did you know about this?” Julian asked.
“No.”
“Stop lying to me!” Julian roared.
His voice echoed off the wood-paneled walls, bouncing back like a death sentence.
“I swear,” Martin said, his voice trembling weakly. “I knew your father did dirty things. I knew he ruined many people. But I have never seen that book.”
“Then why did my mother protect you?”
Martin closed his eyes.
“Because my father's name is in it.”
The room went dead silent.
Julian blinked.
“What?”
Martin opened his eyes. Old, exhausted, hollow eyes.
“My father's name. My uncle's name. My entire family. Your father stole everything from us. The company. The land. The honor.”
“And you came to work for him?” Lydia said, her voice shaking.
“I came to find evidence,” Martin said. “I came to ruin him.”
He looked straight at Julian.
“But your mother found me out.”
Julian felt his chest tighten.
“What did she do?”
“She didn't fire me. She didn't call the police.” Martin swallowed. “She told me that if I killed him, I would go to prison. But if I waited, she would find a way to give it all back.”
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“And she didn't.”
“She tried,” Martin said. “But your father was too powerful. Too ruthless. When she got sick, she gave me the clock. She said her time had run out. But yours hadn't.”
