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.
Silas Finch, still flustered, shuffled towards Arthur’s body, his hand outstretched. “I must secure the evidence. The dagger needs to be cataloged. My authority as an estate notary dictates it.”
Julian moved faster. He intercepted Finch, gently but firmly taking the appraiser’s hand. His fingers brushed against a worn leather ledger clutched in Finch’s other hand.
“Not so fast, Mr. Finch,” Julian said, his voice calm but firm. He carefully, deliberately, plucked the ledger from Finch’s grasp. The cover was scuffed, the pages thick with scribbled notes.
Finch’s eyes widened, a flicker of panic passing through them. “That’s private! My appraisal notes!”
Julian ignored him. He flipped open the ledger. The handwritten entries were dense, filled with property values and legal jargon. But one entry, dated just yesterday, stood out starkly.
It listed a payment: $50,000. Beneath it, a corporate shell company name Julian didn’t immediately recognize. But the address, a P.O. Box in Boston, was familiar. It was Marcus Adler’s private home address.
Julian’s breath hitched. A $50,000 payment from Marcus, just yesterday, to the estate appraiser who conveniently claimed the murder weapon was stolen hours ago. The pieces clicked into place with a sickening thud.
“Fifty thousand dollars?” Julian murmured, loud enough for those nearby to hear. He held the ledger up slightly. “From a company registered to Marcus’s Boston address?”
Finch stammered, his face blanching. “That’s… that’s for a completely different appraisal! A consultation fee!”
Just then, Clara Vanderbilt emerged from the hushed crowd of guests. Her eyes, still swollen from tears, hardened as she saw the ledger in Julian’s hand. She reached out, her fingers lightly touching Julian’s forearm. A jolt, subtle but undeniable, passed between them.
“Mr. Finch,” Clara said, her voice surprisingly steady, “why would my father’s estate appraiser be receiving payments from Marcus Adler? Especially a sum of $50,000, just yesterday?”
Finch’s composure completely crumbled. He swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically between Julian, Clara, and a now-fuming Marcus.
Marcus stepped forward, his face contorted in a silent snarl, but the guests were already whispering. The narrative of a simple theft was collapsing.
Julian kept his grip on the ledger, his resolve hardening. This wasn’t just about a planted knife. This was about a deliberate, calculated plot, far deeper than he’d first imagined.
➡️ Read Chapter 7 to continue the story
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