The Midnight Inheritance: How My Business Partner Framed Me at the Vanderbilt Gala
👉 Previous Decision: You chose to step past Marcus directly to examine the wound and the chemical residue on the blade.
Julian ignored Marcus’s booming accusations, the words echoing uselessly off the vaulted ceiling. He dropped to one knee beside Arthur Vanderbilt’s still form. The air was thick with the scent of lilies and the metallic tang of fear.
His eyes scanned the polished mahogany table, then fixed on the antique dagger protruding from Arthur’s back. The hilt was ornate, silver, and still.
But it was the blade that held his attention. A dark, viscous liquid coated the steel, glistening faintly even in the dim emergency lights. It had no discernible odor.
Julian leaned closer, his fingers hovering inches above the metal. He recognized the tell-tale sheen. A synthetic neurotoxin. He knew it from a case years ago, a restricted compound accessible only through licensed forensic firms.
“What are you doing, Julian?” Marcus’s voice was sharp, a nervous edge cutting through his usual composure. “Don’t tamper with the evidence.”
Julian didn’t look up. His gaze drifted to the dagger’s hilt, where a miniature crest was etched. Beneath it, barely visible, was a serial number.
He committed the sequence to memory. It matched one of their agency’s private equipment registries – Marcus’s personal set.
“This compound,” Julian said, his voice quiet, “it’s restricted.” He pointed a finger at the serial number. “And this registration number… I know it.”
Marcus’s face, usually so composed, drained of color. His jaw tightened. He took an involuntary step back, his eyes darting toward the murmuring guests.
“What are you implying?” Marcus managed, his voice a little strained.
Before Julian could answer, the side door burst open. Silas Finch, the estate appraiser, stumbled in, his spectacles askew, a frantic look in his eyes.
“The dagger!” Finch exclaimed, breathless, his gaze fixing on the weapon. “That’s Arthur’s ceremonial blade. It was stolen from the vault hours ago!”
Julian straightened, turning his head slowly to Finch. Marcus let out a visible sigh of relief, quickly regaining his footing. The air crackled with a new tension.
“Stolen?” Julian murmured, his eyes narrowing, first on Finch, then back to Marcus.
Silas Finch nodded rapidly, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “Yes! I logged it this afternoon. It was supposed to be in secure storage.”
Marcus, emboldened, stepped forward, placing a hand on Finch’s shoulder. “See, Julian? A simple theft. Nothing more.”
Julian felt the blood pulse behind his ears. The synthetic neurotoxin. Marcus’s equipment number. Finch’s frantic entrance. It was too convenient.
He knew, with a chilling certainty, that this was far from simple.
➡️ Read Chapter 6 to continue the story
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