Chapter 3 - Shadows in the AshThe room went dead silent. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic ticking of the antique tall clock in the corner and Leo's shallow breathing.
Marcus stopped mid-step. The arrogance on his face vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp, lethal stillness. "Where did you get that?"
"Clara didn't keep her private papers in a safe, Mr. Thorne," Savannah said, holding the paper securely against her chest. "She kept them where no one in this family ever bothered to look. Inside her son's linen chest at the beach house."
I stared at Savannah, my brain racing. The beach house had burned to the ground. The fire had burned at over twelve hundred degrees. Nothing had survived.
Nothing except what was removed before the match was struck.
"You're lying," Marcus snarled, taking a aggressive step toward her. "The Hamptons house was completely incinerated. That paper is a forgery!"
"Is it?" Savannah asked smoothly. She flipped the page over, showing the bottom margin. "Then why does it bear your personal notary stamp, dated October 14th—the night before the fire?"
Marcus’s attorney, Sterling, looked at the paper, then leaned over and whispered frantically into Marcus's ear. Marcus's jaw tightened so hard I could hear his teeth grind.
"This is absurd," Marcus said, recovering his composure with practiced ease. "This woman is an intruder. Marshals, execute the court order."
"Try it," I said, breaking free from the marshals' grip as they hesitated. I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Savannah. "Sterling, if your client takes one step toward my son, I release every financial audit of Thorne's offshore shell accounts to the SEC before lunch. You know I have the files."
Sterling turned pale and pulled Marcus back by the arm. "Marcus, back down. Not here. Not with the maid holding that paper."
Marcus glared at me with pure, unadulterated venom. "You think you've won, Julian? You're keeping a broken child in a phantom world. He's never going to speak again. And when the board meets on Friday, I won't need a custody order to strip you of your throne."
He turned on his heel and marched back into the elevator, his legal team scrambling behind him. The doors slid shut, cutting off his glaring eyes.
I let out a long breath I hadn't realized I was holding, dropping down onto the sofa. My heart was hammering against my ribs.
I turned to Savannah. "How... how do you have Clara's handwriting? Who are you, Savannah?"
Savannah lowered the paper. She looked down at it, then held it out to me.
I took it. The page was completely blank. It was just an old piece of heavy parchment with an official-looking gold seal at the bottom—a piece of stationery from the Plaza Hotel.
May you like
I looked up at her in shock. "You bluffed him."
"He had a guilty conscience," Savannah said softly, kneeling back down beside Leo, who was slowly removing his hands from his ears. "A man who hasn't done anything wrong doesn't flinch at a blank piece of paper."
