Chapter 5 - The Obstetrician’s Ledger
The heavy oak door of Helen’s private study creaked open. Inside, illuminated only by the pale moonlight filtering through the French doors, a tall figure stood by the antique mahogany desk, frantically rifling through a locked filing cabinet.
“I wouldn't touch that if I were you,” a cool, steady voice echoed from the doorway.
Arthur Vance spun around, his breathing shallow. Standing in the entrance were Julian and Jonathan, blocking his only exit. Behind them stood Helen, her face carved from stone, holding a heavy brass candlestick as a makeshift weapon.
“Helen,” Arthur stammered, recovering his composure with practiced ease. “What are you doing wandering around in the dark? I came back because I left my corporate tablet, and I noticed the security system was acting up.”
“You didn't leave a tablet, Arthur,” Helen said, stepping into the room. She pointed to the open drawer of the filing cabinet, where an old, leather-bound ledger lay exposed. “You came looking for Dr. Alistair’s personal logbook from Geneva. The one that proves you paid off the clinic staff to falsify Julian’s death certificate and abandon him in an orphanage overseas.”
Arthur’s eyes darted toward the window, calculating the distance to the terrace. The veneer of corporate charm had completely vanished, replaced by a desperate, trapped fury.
“You have no idea what you’re meddling in, Helen,” Arthur hissed, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. “That boy—your precious long-lost son—if the board finds out he’s alive, the entire Vance pharmaceutical empire, every patent, every offshore account, reverts to primary heirs. Do you know what happens to our stock value? To our family name?”
“I don't give a damn about the stock value, Arthur!” Helen shouted, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. “You stole my child! You traded a human life for corporate shares!”
Arthur let out a sharp, cynical laugh. He reached slowly into his tailored suit jacket, his fingers sliding toward his inner breast pocket. “Family business is always messy, Helen. And sometimes, loose ends need to be tied up permanently.”
Before Arthur could pull his hand from his jacket, Julian lunged across the room with the explosive speed of someone who had survived years of street violence. He tackled Arthur hard, sending both of them crashing into the mahogany bookshelf. Heavy leather-bound volumes tumbled to the floor in a chaotic clatter.
Jonathan rushed forward to help, pinning Arthur’s arms to the Persian rug while Julian snatched a small, encrypted flash drive that had slipped from Arthur’s pocket.
“Get off me, you little savage!” Arthur roared, thrashing beneath them.
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Helen stood over them, her hands steady, her gaze ice-cold. She picked up the encrypted drive from the floor and slipped it into her pocket.
“It’s over, Arthur,” Helen whispered. “The police are already on their way.”
