Chapter 4 - The Micro-Recorder's SecretI stood my ground, my muscles locked like coiled steel. I knew the distance between Julian and me. Ten feet. If I charged him, the suppressed pistol would fire before I crossed half the room. I had to buy time. I had to keep him talking.
"The trust," I said, my voice dangerously steady, forcing every ounce of venom and control into the syllables. "That's what this was all about? Five years of my son's life—locking him in a dark hole, feeding him scraps like an animal—just to access the Carter Holdings trust fund?"
Julian smiled—a thin, humorless stretching of his lips that didn't reach his cold, dead eyes.
"It’s a very large trust fund, Arthur. Four hundred million dollars in unliquidated assets, coastal real estate, and venture capital portfolios," Julian said, gesturing casually with the barrel of the gun. "When Clara came to me with her little plan—complaining that you were planning to cut her out of the family will after your divorce from her sister—we realized we had a unique opportunity. If Leo 'died' tragically, you would enter a state of profound psychological trauma. You’d sign over power of attorney to manage the estate’s daily operations. And who better to manage it than your loyal CFO and your devoted sister-in-law?"
"You monsters," I breathed.
"Business, Arthur. Pure business," Julian replied, adjusting his cuffs. "And now, unfortunately, we have to conclude the board meeting."
Julian shifted his weight, his finger tightening slightly on the trigger.
"Wait," Leo’s small, clear voice rang out from against my shoulder.
Julian paused, raising an eyebrow in mild curiosity. "What is it, kid? Last words?"
Leo didn't look scared anymore. His dark eyes—so much like his mother's—were locked onto Julian with an icy, preternatural composure that defied his ten years of age. Slowly, his small, dirt-smudged hand lifted the black micro-recorder he had been clutching the entire time.
"You forgot something, Mr. Vance," Leo said clearly.
Julian frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"Every Tuesday night," Leo whispered, his voice echoing clearly in the silent drawing room, "when Aunt Clara brought me the stale bread... you came with her. You stood right outside the drywall. And you talked about the bank accounts in the Caymans. You talked about how you forged my signature on the adoption papers, and how you were going to make Daddy sign the final transfer papers tomorrow morning."
Julian’s face went instantly, completely blank. The aristocratic calm vanished, replaced by a sudden, violent twitch in his jaw.
"Give me that device," Julian hissed, taking a sharp step forward, his gun arm extending fully.
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"No need," Leo said softly, his thumb pressing down firmly on the play button of the micro-recorder.
Click.
