Chapter 3 - The Corporate ExecutionerJulian Vance walked into the dining room like a man stepping onto a battlefield he fully expected to win. At fifty years old, with sharp silver-streaked hair and a tailored charcoal suit that cost more than a used car, Julian was a legal predator. Behind him walked two private investigators I retained for corporate intelligence, carrying heavy black tech-cases.
Julian stopped short when he saw Lily curled in my lap and the battered legal ledger open on the table. His sharp eyes scanned the room, instantly decoding the tension, the locked door upstairs, and the stark horror written across my face.
"Daniel," Julian said, his voice dropping into its characteristic courtroom register. "Your security team outside said you had an emergency. Looking at this setup, I assume it's not a hostile stock acquisition."
"It's worse," I said, setting Lily gently down on a chair and standing up. I slid the ledger across the mahogany table toward him. "It's domestic sabotage, child abuse, and attempted poisoning. Read that."
Julian picked up the ledger with gloved fingers—a habit from handling sensitive corporate espionage documents—and flipped through the pages. As he read, the professional detachment on his face slowly eroded, replaced by a dark, dangerous scowl.
"My god," Julian muttered, looking up at me. "Where is she?"
"Locked in the third-floor guest room. My security detail has the doors and windows covered. She isn't leaving this property."
"Good," Julian snapped, closing the ledger with a sharp slap. "Because if half of what's written here is legally substantiated, we aren't just looking at a custody termination. We are looking at a prison sentence that will keep her behind bars for the next twenty years."
"She mentioned something else," I said, my voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "An entry from yesterday. She claims Kate spiked my scotch the last time I was home."
Julian’s eyes narrowed instantly. "Your recurring headaches over the last six months? The unexplained fatigue you chalked up to overwork?"
"I thought it was burnout," I said, a cold sweat breaking out across the back of my neck. "What if it wasn't?"
"Tech team," Julian called out without turning around. The two investigators stepped forward. "I want every single electronic device in this house confiscated immediately—laptops, tablets, smart speakers, and especially Kate Morrison’s phone and personal hard drive. Check her cloud backups, her search history, and her bank accounts. I want to know if she's been draining Daniel’s corporate accounts or communicating with a third party about a long-term incapacitation scheme."
"On it, Mr. Vance," one of the investigators said, immediately heading for the stairs.
"Wait," I said, holding up a hand. "Before you go up to the third floor, we need to secure one more thing."
"What's that?" Julian asked.
May you like
"The liquor cabinet in my study," I said. "There’s an open bottle of twenty-five-year-old single malt scotch from my last visit two weeks ago. If she's been poisoning me slowly to take control of my estate, the residual toxins will still be in that bottle."
Julian stared at me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Let’s go hunting."
