Chapter 4 - The Confession in the SnowInside the back room of Parker Pine Books, the aroma of chamomile tea filled the air as Eleanor unfolded William’s original letter across a mahogany coffee table. Clare sat opposite her, nursing the warm mug, listening as the decades-old secrets unraveled.
“William wasn't the monster the public made him out to be in his final years,” Eleanor explained, her gaze fixed on the fading ink of the letter. “Before he married Harrison’s mother for social clout and real estate consolidation, we were partners. We built the foundation of Mercer House together. When I fell pregnant with my son—Harrison’s older, rightful half-brother—William tried to do the right thing.”
Clare leaned forward, her heart pounding. “An older brother?”
“Julian,” Eleanor nodded grimly. “Born two years before Harrison. William quietly assigned thirty-four percent of the corporate holding to Julian in a sealed, irrevocable trust. But Harrison’s mother found out. She used her family’s political leverage to force William into silence, and Julian was sent away overseas under a fabricated identity to protect him from a ruthless corporate assassination.”
Eleanor looked up, her green eyes piercingly bright. “When William tried to restore Julian’s inheritance on his deathbed two years ago, Harrison intercepted the documents. He staged William’s fatal stroke by cutting off his heart medication during a supposed ‘accidental fall’ in the Manhattan penthouse.”
Clare gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The official coroner’s report had ruled William’s death natural causes. But looking at Eleanor, Clare knew the horrifying truth: Harrison was not just an unfaithful husband and a ruthless CEO. He was a patricide.
“And Julian?” Clare asked, her voice trembling. “Where is he now?”
“He’s right here in Vermont,” a deep, gravelly voice echoed from the doorway.
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Clare spun around. A tall man with dark, windswept hair and striking, familiar eyes stepped out from the shadows of the stacks. He wore a heavy flannel jacket dusted with snow, holding a thick manila folder labeled with the Mercer family crest.
“And I’ve been waiting twenty years to take back what my father built,” Julian said, offering Clare a warm, knowing smile.
