I drove back to the hotel with my heart pounding against my ribs like a sledgehammer.
Julian.
The man who had stood at my wife’s funeral with tears in his eyes, hugging me by the casket and promising he would always watch over Sophie.
He hadn't been watching over her.
He had been measuring her life against a trust fund.
When I stepped into the hotel suite, Clara was already there, having arrived from my home with three suitcases of clean clothes and Sophie’s favorite picture books.
Clara took one look at my face and closed the bedroom door so Sophie wouldn't hear.
“Adrian,” Clara said softly. “Julian has been calling my mobile phone every fifteen minutes since noon. He claims he’s worried sick about Sophie after hearing rumors about the party.”
“He isn't worried,” I said, handing Clara the trust papers Natalie had given me. “Read that.”
Clara put on her reading glasses, skimming the legal clauses.
Her hands began to tremble so violently the paper fluttered in the air.
“This monster...” Clara whispered, covering her mouth with her apron. “He used that woman to harm his own sister’s child?”
“I’m going to his penthouse,” I said.
“Adrian, no!” Clara begged, grabbing my sleeve. “Call the police! Take the video to the authorities!”
“The police will open an investigation that takes months,” I said, my voice dead and steady. “In the meantime, Julian has access to our family lawyers and the trust executors. I need him to know that the game is finished.”
Ten minutes later, I was standing in the marble elevator of the high-rise overlooking the marina where Julian lived.
When the elevator doors opened directly into his foyer, Julian was standing by the wet bar, pouring scotch into a crystal tumbler.
He turned, seeing me, and immediately plastered on a look of grave, brotherly concern.
“Adrian!” Julian said, hurrying forward with an open hand. “Thank God you’re here. I heard about what that psychotic woman did at the party. Did they arrest her? How is my niece?”
I walked straight past his outstretched hand.
I threw Natalie’s folder onto the glass coffee table between us.
The copies of the trust agreements and the private wire transfer logs spilled out across the polished surface.
Julian’s smile froze instantly.
The color drained from his face until his skin looked like wet chalk.
“What is this?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.
“That’s the contract you made with Vanessa Vance,” I said, stepping until I was standing inches from him. “Fifty million dollars to clear Sophie out of the way.”
Julian stared down at the documents, his chest heaving under his cashmere sweater.
“Adrian, you’re confused,” he stammered, backing toward the balcony windows. “Vanessa is a compulsive liar. She’s trying to drag me down with her because her wedding fell apart!”
“Her phone records are already being mirrored by my attorney,” I lied smoothly, watching his eyes dart in sheer terror. “Every text you sent her about Sophie’s allergy. Every dollar you promised her.”
Julian swallowed hard, his hands shaking so violently that scotch sloshed over the rim of his glass.
“You have no proof I authorized her to hurt the girl,” Julian whispered desperately.
“You knew Sophie would choke,” I growled, grabbing the front of his collar and wrenching him forward. “You knew her throat would close up. And you paid a woman to make sure she had no medicine to save her.”
Julian’s eyes went wide with pure, naked cowardice.
“It was just supposed to look like negligence, Adrian!” he cried out, his voice cracking into a desperate whine. “Just a hospital stay! Just enough to take custody!”
The confession spilled from his lips like poison.
And right behind the decorative plant near the foyer entrance, the red light of Detective Miller’s recording wire flashed silently in the shadows.
