Julian didn't answer.
He let the silence stretch across the line.
“Vanessa?” Thomas’s voice turned sharp. “Did you botch it?”
Julian brought the phone to his mouth.
“She didn't botch it, Thomas. She confessed on camera.”
Dead silence followed.
No breathing.
No rustle of papers.
Just the heavy, hollow hum of an open connection.
“Julian…” Thomas stammered, the smooth confidence evaporating in a second.
“The county sheriff is already en route to the estate,” Julian said, his voice flat as ice.
“And my corporate attorneys are freezing your board privileges as of ten seconds ago.”
“Julian, wait—listen to me!” Thomas pleaded through the speaker. “Vanessa came to me! She said the baby was a mistake, she wanted out—”
Julian ended the call with a single tap of his thumb.
He turned toward me.
The exhaustion on his face made him look ten years older.
“Rachel, sit down before you faint.”
I shook my head, shifting Noah higher on my hip.
Adrenaline was the only thing keeping my knees locked.
“I need to clean Noah up, sir. And get him away from this room.”
Julian gently took the baby from my arms.
Noah whimpered, turning his face toward his father’s chest.
Julian held him like he was made of spun glass, burying his face into the child's soft hair.
“Thank you,” he whispered again.
The estate doctor rushed into the nursery with a medical kit, flanked by two uniformed deputies.
The doctor immediately steered me to a chair, opening antiseptic wipes.
The alcohol stung the cut on my temple, but the burning didn't matter.
Noah was safe.
Deputy Evans took out a notepad.
“Mr. Whitmore, we have Mrs. Whitmore secured in the patrol car downstairs. We need the original footage from the camera.”
Julian pointed to the device on the wall.
“Take the memory card. Take the cloud server backups. Take everything.”
The deputy nodded, climbing onto a stool to unscrew the mounting bracket.
Julian looked at the deputy.
“Has my brother arrived at corporate headquarters yet?”
“Dallas PD is waiting at the downtown tower, sir. If he shows up for that board meeting, he’ll be arrested at the front doors.”
Suddenly, the security radio on the deputy’s shoulder crackled to life.
A frantic voice cut through the static:
“Dispatch, this is Unit Four at the Whitmore main gates! A black Escalade just rammed through the security barrier!”
Julian turned toward the window overlooking the estate grounds.
Tires screeched on wet gravel.
The heavy sound of metal smashing into wood echoed up from the courtyard below.
Deputy Evans drew his weapon.
“Stay inside this room!”
Through the window, I saw the Escalade slam straight into Julian’s private garage.
The driver’s door kicked open.
A man stumbled out into the driving rain, holding a semi-automatic handgun.
It wasn't Thomas.
It was Greg Vance, the chief financial officer.
And he wasn't heading for the boardroom.
He was heading straight for the front doors of the mansion.