Chapter 4 - THE STORM BEFORE THE DAWNAt 3:00 AM, a violent blizzard slammed into Lake Michigan. Gale-force winds lashed against the massive glass windows of Whitmore Mansion, howling like trapped spirits.
Inside, the atmosphere was even more volatile.
Marcus Vance had returned through the blinding snow, accompanied by two private bailiffs carrying court-ordered emergency guardianship papers. They didn't bother knocking; they kicked open the study doors while Grace was downstairs heating water for Noah's formula.
"Time's up, Julian," Marcus announced, dropping a thick packet of legal documents onto the desk. "Sign the transfer of attorney-in-fact to Arthur, or the bailiffs take you out in a straitjacket right now."
I looked at Marcus, then at the two towering guards blocking the doorway. I slowly picked up a heavy Montblanc fountain pen. My hand hovered over the signature line.
Marcus smirked, leaning forward in anticipation of his victory commission. "Smart boy. Save yourself the humiliation."
"I'm not signing a damn thing," I said, looking up with a cold, fierce smile that mirrored the one Grace had given Arthur earlier.
Marcus’s smile vanished. "You don't have a choice!"
"Actually, he does," a calm voice echoed from the doorway.
Grace walked into the study. She wasn't wearing her housekeeper uniform anymore. She wore a thick winter coat, her boots dusted with fresh snow, and in her hand, she held a portable Bluetooth speaker plugged into a laptop.
"Who the hell let this cleaner back in here?" Marcus barked, waving a hand at the guards. "Grab her and throw her out into the snow!"
Before the guards could take a step, Grace pressed Play on the laptop.
The tinny acoustics of the study’s speakers suddenly filled with crystal-clear audio.
“...If the boy ever finds out about the brake fluid modification, we’re both doing twenty-to-life, Thomas!” Arthur’s voice boomed across the room, unmistakable, arrogant, and panicked.
“Relax, Mr. Whitmore,” a second, gravelly voice replied on the recording. “Nobody checks the undercarriage of a car that rolled down a hundred-foot cliff into freezing water. The crash obliterated the evidence.”
Marcus Vance staggered back as if he’d been shot. The color drained completely from his face. "Where... where did you get that?" he stammered, staring at Grace in absolute horror.
"From the man himself," Grace said coolly, stepping up beside my wheelchair and placing a protective hand on my shoulder. "Copies of this file are currently uploading to the Chicago Police Department, the State Attorney General’s office, and three major investigative news outlets. If anything happens to me, to Julian, or to my baby tonight, the whole world hears the truth by sunrise."
The guards hesitated, looking between Marcus and the laptop in stunned confusion.
May you like
Marcus lunged forward, trying to grab the computer, but I rolled my wheelchair swiftly into his path, slamming my heavy footrest directly into his shins. He yelped in pain, tumbling backward over a stack of law books.
"Get out of my house," I roared, the voice of the true master of Whitmore Residential finally reclaiming its thunder. "Or I'll feed both of you to the lake."
