Chapter 3 - The Seven Day Clock
The rain,
continued to lash,
against the house,
a relentless,
drumbeat,
that mirrored,
the pounding,
in Julian's,
head.
Seven days?
He demanded,
walking toward,
Henderson,
his face,
flushed with,
sudden,
panic.
Are you,
out of your mind?
Liquidate everything?
That includes,
the shipping lines,
the real estate,
the investments?
Henderson remained,
unmoved,
his hands,
folded neatly,
on the desk.
Those are the terms,
Julian.
Arthur was,
very specific,
in his instructions.
He wanted,
to ensure,
that his,
legacy was,
handled with,
the same care,
he provided.
Victoria paced,
the room,
her heels,
clicking rhythmically,
like a ticking,
clock.
This is absurd,
she muttered,
her mind,
already racing,
through the,
possibilities.
We can,
contest the will,
we can claim,
mental instability,
we can find,
a loophole.
Henderson shook,
his head,
slowly.
There are no,
loopholes,
Victoria.
The will,
is ironclad.
It was drawn up,
by the best,
legal minds,
in the country,
and notarized,
under the,
strictest conditions.
If the key,
is not found,
the estate,
is gone.
Every cent,
is donated.
Julian grabbed,
the edge of,
the desk,
leaning over,
Henderson.
And where,
is this key?
Does he say,
where the key,
is hidden?
Henderson turned,
a page,
looking for,
the answer.
It says only,
the key,
is where,
the journey,
began.
Julian let out,
a frustrated,
growl,
slamming his,
fist,
against the wood.
Where the journey,
began?
What does that,
even mean?
Victoria stopped,
her pacing,
her eyes,
sharpening.
He is talking,
about the dock,
or the old boat,
or maybe,
that pathetic,
mechanic shop,
the boy,
works in.
She turned,
to Julian,
her eyes,
cold and focused.
We need,
to find that boy.
We need,
to find him,
before he,
figures out,
what this means.
Julian sneered.
He is probably,
still in the mud,
licking his,
wounds.
He is,
a nobody,
Victoria.
He does not,
have the brains,
to decode,
this riddle.
Victoria shook,
her head.
Do not,
underestimate,
the desperate,
Julian.
He is,
the only other,
Sterling.
And Arthur,
for all,
his faults,
loved him,
in his own,
twisted way.
He might,
know something,
we do not.
Julian straightened,
his jacket,
a new,
determination,
hardening his,
features.
Fine.
I will handle it.
I will find him,
I will drag him,
back here,
if I have to.
He turned,
to leave,
his mind,
already spinning,
with plans,
for sabotage,
and coercion.
Victoria watched him,
go,
her fingers,
tracing the edge,
of the will.
Seven days,
she whispered,
to the empty room.
Seven days,
to save,
an empire.
Outside,
in the darkness,
far away,
from the mansion,
Ethan sat,
in his small,
apartment,
above the shop.
The cut,
on his cheek,
was throbbing,
but his mind,
was clear.
He looked,
at a small,
photograph,
on his desk.
It was a picture,
of him,
and his father,
at the docks,
years ago.
Where the journey,
began,
he murmured.
He stood up,
walking to,
the window,
watching the rain.
He knew,
what his father,
was doing.
He was giving,
him one,
last chance.
A chance,
to prove,
he was worthy.
Or a chance,
to burn it,
all down.
He grabbed,
his keys,
and his jacket.
He could not,
wait for,
morning.
He had,
to go,
to the docks,
tonight.
The storm,
raged on,
but for the,
first time,
in five years,
Ethan felt,
a spark,
of purpose.
They thought,
he was,
broken.
They thought,
he was,
nothing.
They had no idea,
what he,
was capable of.
He started,
his truck,
the engine,
roaring to life,
in the quiet,
street.
He drove,
into the rain,
toward the,
old pier,
where everything,
had started.
The journey,
May you like
was beginning,
again.
