Chapter 3 - Enter the Patriarch
Before Julian could process Clara’s warning, the heavy mahogany doors at the end of the hall swung open. The temperature in the corridor seemed to drop ten degrees. Arthur Vance, the billionaire patriarch of the Vance empire, stepped into the light. He was a man carved from the same unforgiving granite as his home—tall, impeccably tailored, with eyes like chips of flint.
"What is the meaning of this?" Arthur’s voice was a low rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. He stared at the ruined antique clock, then at the trembling boy, and finally at the governess kneeling on the floor.
Clara stood up, smoothing her skirt with practiced poise. "An accident, Mr. Vance. Julian tripped while carrying the goblet. I tried to catch him, but it slipped from both our grasps."
Julian stared at her. It was a blatant, easily disprovable lie. But Clara didn't break eye contact with his father.
Arthur’s gaze flicked to the security camera, then back to Clara. "Is that so?" he murmured, stepping closer. The scent of expensive scotch and cold leather preceded him. "I trust you will have this cleaned immediately, Clara. And ensure my son takes his evening medication. His... clumsiness is a sign of fatigue."
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"Of course, sir," Clara said evenly.
As Arthur walked away, Julian realized two horrifying things. First, his father knew Clara was lying. Second, Clara knew the security cameras were fake.
