Chapter 6 - The Visitor in the HospitalThe local hospital kept me overnight for smoke inhalation observation and a thorough examination of my bruised leg. By the following afternoon, I was resting in a private room on the third floor, watching the gray rain tap against the windowpane.
The door creaked open. I expected Detective Hayes with more updates on Grant and Vanessa’s arraignment.
Instead, a man in an expensive charcoal suit walked in, carrying a leather briefcase. He had thinning gray hair, immaculate silver-rimmed glasses, and a polite, practiced smile that I had known for four decades.
"Arthur, my old friend," Julian Vance said softly, stepping into the room. "When I heard about the fire on the morning news, my heart completely stopped. Are you alright?"
I stared at him from the hospital bed. All the pieces of the puzzle clicked together with terrifying precision. The missing quarterly reports, the strange discrepancies in the corporate audits, and now, the cloud folder sent by Marcus.
"Julian," I said, my voice eerily calm. "You didn't have to come all the way down here. I know you're a busy man."
Julian pulled up a chair beside the bed, resting his briefcase on his knees. "Nonsense. We've been partners for forty years. Family, practically. When I heard Grant and Vanessa got themselves mixed up in some foolish legal trouble, I was shocked. You know how reckless that boy is."
"Reckless," I repeated, holding his gaze. "Is that what you call corporate embezzlement, identity theft, and attempted murder?"
Julian’s polite smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but his professional composure quickly reasserted itself. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Arthur, let's not speak in riddles. I know you're shaken up. You've had a traumatic experience. But rushing to conclusions while under medical duress isn't going to help anyone."
"Is that why you helped Grant set up the Cayman accounts?" I asked, pulling my phone from the bedside table and turning the screen toward him.
The cloud folder was open, displaying the exact wire transfer receipts bearing Julian’s digital signature and personal authorization codes.
Julian stared at the screen. The polite mask slipped entirely, revealing the cold, calculating predator beneath. He slowly closed his briefcase and set it on the floor.
"You always were too observant for your own good, Arthur," Julian said, his tone dropping all pretense of warmth. "Even when your mind was supposed to be clouded by those little blue pills Vanessa was mixing into your evening tea."
My blood ran cold. "You knew about the sedatives."
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"Of course I knew," Julian replied smoothly. "You were refusing to sign over the final controlling shares of the corporation. You wanted to leave everything to charity in your revised will. We simply... accelerated your retirement plans. Unfortunately, your ungrateful son-in-law lacks finesse. He panicked and set half the house on fire instead of letting nature take its course."
Julian stood up, smoothing down his jacket. "And now, Arthur, you have a choice. You can sign over the corporate restructuring papers in my briefcase right now, and live out your remaining years in comfortable seclusion. Or... you can fight us. But let me remind you—accidents happen all the time, even in secure hospital rooms."
