Chapter 5
The Bentley rolled smoothly through the rain-slicked downtown streets, the wipers cutting rhythmic arcs across the windshield. Julian sat in the back seat, staring out at the blurred neon lights of the city. The black tuxedo jacket was unbuttoned, and his white dress shirt collar felt restrictive against his throat, so he loosened his black silk tie, letting out a long, exhausted breath.
Upfront, the driver kept his eyes fixed on the road, acutely aware of the heavy silence vibrating from the back seat. Julian didn't speak. He kept replaying the image of the boy in the tan button-down shirt standing bravely among the wealthy elite, warning a complete stranger about a danger he had no business knowing.
When the car pulled up to the security gates of his suburban estate, the automatic iron bars swung open without hesitation. Julian got out, walking up the stone steps of the grand entrance, but he didn't feel like the master of a home anymore. The house felt like a museum of glass and bone.
Inside, the foyer was dark except for a single wall sconce. On the mahogany console table sat a small leather-bound notebook and a set of car keys. She was already gone. The police had detained her at the venue, and her legal team was undoubtedly already scrambling, but the personal belongings she had packed earlier that evening sat in a designer suitcase near the door.
Julian walked over to the console, picking up the notebook. It was hers—a private journal she thought he never looked at. He opened it to the bookmarked page, reading the neat, calculated entries detailing her plans, her frustrations, and her cold justification for what she had tried to do. There was no remorse in the ink, only impatience.
May you like
He closed the book softly, feeling a dull ache behind his eyes. He had spent his entire life building an empire of concrete and steel, believing that security came from wealth and control. Yet, when his life was actually on the line, it wasn't his lawyers, his money, or his high-society friends who saved him. It was a nameless little boy whose father worked in the grease and steam of the kitchens.
Julian walked over to the floor-to-ceiling living room window, looking out over the dark lawn, wondering where the boy and his father were right now, and realizing he had failed to even ask their names.
