Chapter 2 - The Paper Trail of Blood
The guest suite of the penthouse was larger than my entire two-bedroom apartment in Queens, but I couldn't sleep.
It was two o'clock in the morning. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city was draped in a light, swirling snow that dusted the black rooftops of Manhattan. Ivy was fast asleep in the center of a king-sized feather bed, clutching her rabbit, her chest rising and falling in rhythmic, peaceful breaths.
I walked quietly down the polished hallway toward Julian's private study.
The door was slightly ajar, casting a warm stripe of yellow light across the dark wood flooring. Inside, the room looked like a war room. Ancient leather-bound books, financial ledgers, architectural blueprints, and stacks of legal affidavits were spread across the massive mahogany desk.
Julian sat behind the desk, his jacket off, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his tie loosened. Beside him stood Marcus, operating a encrypted satellite laptop, while two men in sharp dark suits—Julian’s senior corporate lawyers—were speaking rapidly on speakerphone.
"...the trust structure is airtight, Julian," one lawyer’s voice crackled through the speaker. "If Victoria Hail created the Delancey Educational Trust six years ago before her death, and named Toby as the sole beneficiary of her twenty percent voting shares in Hail Group, then Arthur Hail has been committing grand larceny and corporate treason every day for the last six years."
Julian held up a hand, silencing the phone. He looked toward the doorway and caught me standing there.
"Elena," he said, his voice quiet. "Come in."
I stepped into the study, pulling my woolen cardigan tightly around myself. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I just... I couldn't sleep."
"Neither can we," Julian said. He gestured to a leather armchair across from his desk. "Sit down."
I sat on the edge of the chair, looking at the glowing laptop screen. "Is it true? Is Toby really your stepmother's son?"
Julian leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Six years ago, my father passed away, leaving Hail Group split between me, my stepmother Victoria, and my uncle Arthur. Victoria was thirty-five, quiet, and kept to herself. Three months after my father’s funeral, she suddenly dropped out of public life. Arthur announced she had moved to a private estate in Switzerland for her health. Four months later, we were told she died of a sudden cardiac arrest in Geneva."
"And you believed it?" I asked gently.
"I had no reason not to," Julian said, his eyes darkening with a profound, painful guilt. "I was twenty-eight, drowning in corporate takeover battles, fighting Arthur for control of the board. I didn't look deeper. But Victoria didn't go to Switzerland, Elena. Arthur hid her right here in New York, at a private clinic in upstate. She gave birth to Toby six years ago tomorrow. And three days after giving birth... she died."
A cold shudder ran through my spine. "And Arthur took the baby?"
"Arthur couldn't kill the child without triggering an automatic audit of Victoria's estate by the probate court," Marcus chimed in, leaning over the desk. "So he made a deal with a crooked trustee at Vane & Sterling. They created a shadow trust, dumped the baby at Saint Anne's under a fake name—Toby Vance—and paid the orphan home a monthly stipend from a hidden escrow account. Arthur took control of Victoria's twenty percent voting shares, claiming she had willed them to him."
"Why move him now?" I asked, looking between Julian and Marcus. "Why tomorrow?"
Julian picked up a legal paper from the desk, his fingers crushing the paper slightly. "Because under the terms of Victoria's original, sealed trust document... tomorrow is Toby's sixth birthday. Under New York trust law, six is the age where a child ward’s identity must be legally registered with the surrogate court to maintain private trust status. If Toby is registered tomorrow, his DNA profile enters the state database. His bloodline will be proven in ten minutes."
"So Arthur is transferring him," I whispered, horror rising in my throat. "To a facility where he can disappear forever."
"He's not just transferring him, Elena," Julian said, his voice dropping into a razor-thin blade of ice. "Arthur signed papers six hours ago authorizing Toby’s transfer to 'The Pines Rest Home' in upstate New York. It’s an unlicensed, private facility owned by one of Arthur's shell companies. If Toby gets on that transport bus at six o'clock tomorrow morning, he will never see his seventh birthday."
I covered my mouth with both hands. "My God..."
"Arthur thinks he’s playing a game of corporate chess," Julian said, standing up from his desk and buttoning his crisp white cuffs. "He thinks he can clean up his mess before the market opens tomorrow at nine AM. He thinks nobody knows about the child."
Julian looked at his watch.
3:15 AM.
He turned to Marcus. "Is the transport team ready?"
"Six vehicles, fully armed, waiting in the underground garage, boss," Marcus replied with a cold nod. "We also located the item you requested."
Marcus reached down beneath the desk and pulled out a large, beautifully wrapped gift box with a silk ribbon. He set it on the desk and opened the lid.
Inside sat a plush, handcrafted stuffed dog—soft brown fur, floppy ears, and a bright red leather collar around its neck.
I looked from the stuffed dog to Julian. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes.
May you like
"You actually got it," I whispered.
Julian looked at the toy, his steel-blue eyes softening for a fraction of a second. "A billionaire doesn't break a promise to a three-year-old girl, Elena. Now... let's go get my brother."
