The Man Behind the Documents
Chapter 14 - The Man Behind the Documents
Nora opened the door before Julian could stop her.
Victor Sloane stood in the hallway wearing a camel overcoat and the amused expression of a man who had spent thirty years mistaking bitterness for intelligence. He was in his early sixties, handsome in a dried-out way, with silver at his temples and eyes that looked permanently entertained by other people’s pain.
Two men stood behind him.
Not police.
Private security.
One of them was Cal Reed, one eye still red from pepper spray.
Nora smiled. “Cal. You look rested.”
Cal did not smile back.
Victor’s gaze moved to Julian. “And this must be the spare Vale.”
Julian took one step forward.
Nora caught his sleeve. “No.”
Victor’s smile widened. “Good dog.”
Nora held up her phone. “Everything you say is recording.”
“That only matters if I say something useful.”
“You already have. You knew we were here.”
Victor sighed with theatrical disappointment. “Lila always was too soft. Poverty breeds sentiment. It’s inefficient.”
Julian’s voice was low. “You forged my sister’s signature.”
“Allegedly.”
“You helped them hurt her.”
Victor looked at him for the first time with real attention. “Young man, people hurt each other without assistance. I merely prepare paperwork for the inevitable.”
Nora tilted her head. “You prepared a medical directive declaring a healthy woman incompetent on her wedding night.”
“A precaution.”
“For theft.”
“For continuity.”
Julian felt something cold move through him. Victor did not sound like a villain in a movie. He sounded like a consultant explaining tax exposure.
That was worse.
Victor stepped closer. “Tell Malcolm I remember him fondly. He built an empire on moral theater. But every man has an old room he hopes his children never enter.”
Nora’s eyes sharpened. “What room?”
Victor smiled at Julian. “Ask your father why he knew to investigate Holloway Capital before Bennett ever met Elena.”
Julian went still.
Nora did not take the bait. “Move.”
“No.”
“Then I’ll scream.”
Victor blinked.
Nora drew breath and screamed so loudly the fluorescent light seemed to vibrate.
Not words.
Just volume.
A door opened downstairs. Someone shouted. Victor’s security men looked toward the stairwell. Nora shoved the folder into Julian’s chest.
“Run.”
He did.
Cal lunged after him. Julian hit the stairs two at a time, slammed into the wall at the landing, nearly fell, kept moving. Behind him came shouting, Nora laughing like a lunatic, Victor cursing for the first time.
Julian burst onto the sidewalk into rain and traffic, clutching the folder beneath his coat.
A taxi swerved. A cyclist yelled.
He ran until his lungs burned and ducked into a bodega, where the teenage cashier looked up from his phone.
“Bathroom?” Julian gasped.
The cashier pointed.
Inside the tiny bathroom, Julian locked the door and photographed every page with shaking hands. Then he sent them to Malcolm, Nora, Diana, and three secure email accounts Nora had insisted on setting up before they left.
Only then did he let himself read Victor’s last words again.
Ask your father why he knew.
His phone buzzed.
Malcolm.
Julian answered.
“Where are you?” Malcolm asked.
“Safe. Nora’s still inside.”
“I’m sending people.”
“Dad.”
A pause.
“What did Victor mean?” Julian asked.
Silence.
Rain hammered the tiny bathroom window.
“Dad,” Julian said again. “What old room?”
May you like
When Malcolm finally spoke, his voice sounded older than Julian had ever heard it.
“Come home,” he said. “There’s something I should have told both of you years ago.”
