Julian’s phone call screamed through the estate lines, a raw, furious sound that even Clara could hear from the guest cottage. She knew he had discovered her refusal to sign.
His anger, however, held a new, desperate edge.
Within hours, the first official letter arrived. It wasn’t a lawsuit, not yet. It was a formal probate challenge. Julian claimed Clara had exercised “undue influence” over a frail senior.
Then, a second letter. This one from the county. An “emergency tax audit” on the estate’s historic preservation grant. The timing was too perfect to be coincidence.
Clara knew Julian was using his personal clout. The audit threatened to freeze the vineyard’s payroll, putting Eleanor’s loyal staff out of work.
She had to check on them.
That evening, a cool autumn breeze swept through the valley. Clara walked toward the main house, a knot forming in her stomach.
A single light shone in Eleanor’s study. Julian was there.
He sat at Eleanor’s desk, the very desk where the will had been read. His dark suit was rumpled. His tie was loosened.
Papers lay scattered around him like discarded dreams. He ran a hand through his hair, his movements jerky and agitated.
He looked up, his eyes bloodshot. They held a raw, primal exhaustion Clara had never seen in his usually polished demeanor.
“Still here?” Julian’s voice was hoarse.
He didn’t wait for an answer. He just buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with a silent, heavy burden.
+ There are no comments
Add yours