Chapter 5 - THE COTTAGE BY THE RIVER
Two hours later.
The roaring noise of the city fell away, replaced by the quiet rustle of autumn leaves along the banks of the Red River.
Julian’s high-end sports car sat parked in the driveway of a small, single-story timber cottage nestled beneath ancient oak trees. The white paint on the window frames was peeling, but the porch was clean, and a warm, golden light glowed through the rain-spotted glass.
Inside, the smell of dried lavender and cedar filled the small living room.
Julian sat on a faded velvet armchair, holding a steaming mug of black tea. On the wooden coffee table before him lay dozens of old photo albums, newspaper clippings, and hand-written journals—a thirty-year archive of a mother who had never stopped tracking her son's life from afar.
Every award he had won in high school, every article about his college graduation, every press release about his corporate promotions—Elowen had clipped and saved every single one.
"Why didn't you come for me sooner?" Julian asked softly, tracing his thumb over a clipping from his 18th birthday.
Elowen sat across from him, setting down a plate of warm biscuits.
"I tried, Julian," she said, her voice heavy with the weight of twenty-five years of silent grief. "When your father took you, I hired lawyers. I went to the police. But Arthur Thorne bought the judges, and Victor had the local sheriff threaten to put me in prison for trespassing. They told me that if I ever tried to contact you, they would ruin your life before it even started."
She reached out, her thumb gently touching the faint, curved scar near his chin.
"You got that scar when you fell off the porch swing when you were four," Elowen murmured, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. "I held you for three hours in the clinic while they stitched it up."
Julian closed his eyes as a sudden, sharp flood of memory rushed through his mind—the smell of rain, a gentle voice singing a lullaby, and warm arms holding him tight in a dark room.
It was real.
Before Julian could speak, the bright headlights of three black SUVs cut through the evening darkness outside the cottage window, casting long, menacing shadows across the living room wall.
May you like
Elowen stood up instantly, her posture stiffening.
"They didn't come to negotiate, Julian," Elowen whispered, her eyes turning cold as she looked out the window. "Victor knows what's buried beneath the old warehouse on 4th Street. And he'll do anything to keep you from finding out how your father really died."
