Chapter 2 - The Gold Watch
“A boy who was supposed to be dead.”
Allison’s terrified whisper echoed in my ear long after our call ended. I stood on the balcony of my master suite, looking down at the empty engagement party tents on the lawn. The caterers were packing up the crystal and silver, erasing the evidence of what was supposed to be the happiest night of my life. Instead, my fiancée had tried to poison a maid, my security manager had vanished, and my own brother was somehow involved.
I didn’t confront Victoria. Not yet. I knew better than to trap a predator before knowing the layout of its cage.
I grabbed my keys and bypassed my personal driver, taking the sleek black Aston Martin out of the garage myself. The midnight air was freezing, biting through my tailored suit jacket, but I hardly felt it. My mind was racing.
My brother Michael lived in a high-rise penthouse across the river, funded almost entirely by the Ricci family trust. We had always been close, but in the last six months, he had grown distant. Nervous. I had chalked it up to his gambling debts, which I quietly paid off. Now, I realized his fear had a different name entirely.
I bypassed the concierge, using my family override code to access the private elevator. The doors opened directly into Michael’s living room.
The penthouse was dark, save for a single lamp glowing over the kitchen island.
Michael was sitting on a leather barstool, staring down at a glass of scotch. He didn’t jump when the elevator chimed. He didn’t even look surprised. He just looked incredibly tired.
“You’re supposed to be celebrating your engagement, Julian,” Michael said, his voice flat.
I walked over to the island and stopped across from him. I didn't yell. I didn't break anything. I just stared at his left wrist.
The gold watch with the dark green dial caught the dim light. I could clearly see the small, jagged scratch near the clasp.
“Where were you yesterday afternoon, Michael?” I asked quietly.
Michael gripped his glass tighter. “I was here. Dealing with a hangover.”
“Allison Reed is in the hospital,” I stated, watching his eyes. “She collapsed in the middle of the ballroom tonight. Paramedics suspect a severe chemical toxin in her water. And right before she passed out, she told me about the man she saw talking to Victoria near my private records room.”
Michael’s face lost all its color. He set the glass down, his hands trembling so violently the ice rattled against the crystal.
“Julian, I didn’t know she was going to hurt anyone,” Michael choked out, the lie crumbling instantly under pressure. “I swear to God. She told me she just needed the access codes to the trust documents to verify her prenuptial agreement.”
“And you believed her?” I asked, my voice dangerously low.
“I didn’t have a choice!” Michael yelled, standing up. He paced away from the island, running a hand through his hair. “You think I wanted to betray you? You’re my brother. You’ve saved me a dozen times. But Victoria… she isn’t who you think she is, Julian. She isn’t some socialite from a good family. She’s a ghost.”
“Explain,” I demanded.
Michael walked over to a heavy oak bookshelf. He reached behind a row of leather-bound encyclopedias and pulled out a small, locked metal lockbox. He keyed in the combination and opened it, setting it on the counter.
“She found me at the casino three months ago,” Michael said, his voice shaking. “She knew exactly how much I owed the syndicate. She paid it off in cash. But in exchange, she demanded my keycard to the mansion’s lower levels.”
“Why would she need that? She practically lives with me.”
“Because she wasn’t looking for jewelry, Julian. She was looking for leverage.” Michael reached into the lockbox and pulled out an object, sliding it across the marble island toward me.
It was a small, heavy silver bracelet.
My heart completely stopped.
I recognized the delicate filigree work immediately. It was the bracelet my younger sister, Elena, had been wearing the night she died in a car accident seven years ago.
“Where did you get this?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
“Victoria gave it to me,” Michael said, tears welling in his eyes. “She said if I didn’t help her access the family trust, she was going to release documentation proving that Elena’s crash wasn’t an accident. And that the Ricci family covered it up.”
“That’s a lie,” I said fiercely. “Elena lost control on the ice.”
“Victoria has a police report that says otherwise,” Michael whispered. “A report claiming the brake lines were cut. By our father.”
The reversal hit me like a physical blow. The father I had idolized, the man who had built our empire, accused of murdering his own daughter? Victoria was using my family’s deepest trauma to extort my brother.
But it didn't end there.
“And the boy?” I asked, remembering Allison’s hospital phone call. “The boy from St. Anne’s?”
Michael looked down at the floor. “Elena didn’t die alone in that car, Julian. She was pregnant. The baby survived.”
The room spun. A nephew. I had a nephew who had been out there in the world for seven years, and I never knew.
“Where is he?” I demanded.
Michael reached into the lockbox one last time. He pulled out a piece of thick, blue cardstock.
May you like
It was a vintage, first-class train ticket. Departing tomorrow morning at 6:00 a.m. Destination: Montreal.
“Victoria is leaving, Julian,” Michael said, his voice breaking. “She doesn’t want the marriage. She just wanted the trust signatures, which she got Harold to forge tonight while everyone was distracted by Allison collapsing. She’s taking the boy, and she’s taking the money.”
