Chapter 6 - THE KNOCK AT THE DOORThree weeks after the federal freeze, the legal battles had largely settled into the predictable, grinding machinery of corporate bankruptcy court. The Sterling family had been legally barred from approaching me, and their lawyers were too busy trying to keep Arthur Senior out of federal prison to mount any kind of counter-offensive.
I was sitting at my glass desk, reviewing architectural blueprints for the restoration of the historic Veridian district—turning the old, abandoned factory blocks into affordable housing and community centers—when a sharp knock echoed through the private foyer of my penthouse.
Frowning, I checked the security monitor.
There was no delivery driver. No legal courier.
Standing outside my heavy double doors, looking hollowed out, hollow-eyed, and wearing a cheap, unpressed suit that hung loosely off his frame, was Julian.
He looked ten years older. The arrogant, pristine golden boy was gone, replaced by a broken, desperate ghost of a man. He held a small, battered cardboard box in his hands.
For a long moment, I debated ignoring him. I could press a button on my desk and security would physically drag him off the property within three minutes.
Instead, I stood up, walked across the marble foyer, and pulled the door open.
Julian flinched as the door swung wide, his bloodshot eyes darting up to meet mine. He looked smaller than I remembered—or perhaps, without the towering armor of his family's wealth and privilege, he had always been this small.
"What do you want, Julian?" my voice was flat, devoid of anger, which seemed to hurt him more than shouting ever could. "Are you here to serve me with another baseless motion, or did your father send you to beg for pocket change?"
"No," Julian whispered, his voice cracking horribly. He swallowed hard, staring down at the floor between us. "No lawyers. No family. They... they won't even speak to me anymore."
"Surprise, surprise," I replied coldly, leaning against the doorframe. "The Sterlings only love power. The moment you became a liability, you were cast aside. Welcome to the real world, Julian. How does it feel?"
He let out a dry, broken laugh that sounded like glass grinding together. "It hurts. God, it hurts." He lifted the cardboard box slightly. "I came to... I came to give you this."
"What is it?"
"My mother packed up the remaining personal items from the guest room where you... where you stayed before the wedding," Julian said, his eyes finally meeting mine, filled with a pathetic, desperate plea for forgiveness. "Most of your things were destroyed or thrown out in the panic. But this... this was at the bottom of the closet. Behind an old floorboard."
I looked down at the box. Inside, resting beneath a layer of dust, was a small, leather-bound notebook with worn edges.
May you like
My mother’s journal.
The one I thought had been permanently lost when our family home was seized and destroyed sixty years ago.
