The Midnight Inheritance: How My Business Partner Framed Me at the Vanderbilt Gala
👉 Previous Decision: You chose to drive to the 24-hour diner where local harbor workers and lab technicians congregate.
The diner was a beacon of fluorescent light and stale coffee fumes in the pre-dawn gloom. Julian pulled into a shadowy spot, the rain still beating down. Inside, the air hummed with low conversations and the clatter of plates.
He slid onto a worn stool at the counter, ordering a black coffee. Next to him, a man hunched over a plate of eggs and bacon. A patch on his work jacket bore the emblem of “Coastal Chemical Labs,” a regional distributor Julian recognized.
“Rough night?” Julian asked, his voice casual.
The technician grunted, pushing a fork through his eggs. “Always rough when you’re on call for emergency spills. Some idiot nearly blew up a small lab yesterday.” He took a long sip of coffee.
Julian seized the opening. “Sounds like the kind of trouble Silas Finch’s firm usually cleans up.” He watched the man’s reaction carefully.
The technician snorted. “Finch? Nah. He mostly does appraisals. Though, funny you mention him. I did process a restricted order under his license yesterday morning. Neurotoxin.” He shook his head. “Rare stuff. Had to verify the license twice.”
Julian felt a jolt of ice in his veins. “Really? Who signed for it?”
“Some slick guy in a fancy suit,” the technician said, pushing his plate away. “Didn’t look like a lab rat. Had a Boston accent.” He paused, reaching into his bag. “Here, hold on. I keep the carbon copies for my own records. Just in case.”
He pulled out a small stack of triplicate forms. Julian’s hand trembled slightly as he took the top sheet. It was a delivery log for a synthetic neurotoxin. Dated yesterday. Registered under Silas Finch’s name.
And the signature for receipt? Marcus Adler. Scrawled clearly at the bottom. The technician had even added a small note: “Recipient insisted on personal pickup, presented Finch’s notary seal.”
Julian’s breath caught in his throat. This was it. Physical, undeniable proof. Marcus himself, personally signing for the poison. The final piece to dismantle Marcus’s carefully constructed defense.
He thanked the technician, his voice a little hoarse, and tucked the carbon copy deep into his jacket. The rain outside seemed less oppressive now.
➡️ Read Chapter 14 to continue the story
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