Chapter 9 - THE MIDNIGHT SWAP
I waited in the stifling dark behind the library wall for nearly two hours until Marcus finally finished his drinks and retired to his guest wing on the second floor.
The moment the heavy library doors clicked shut and the lights were extinguished, I slid back through the wall passage, hurrying to my suite to gather the supplies Arthur had prepared for me in the crypt.
Arthur had anticipated that Marcus would attempt to destroy the physical evidence before the gala. In my satchel was an exact replica bundle of aged parchment documents—forged by Arthur himself during his months in hiding, matching the exact size, weight, and red ribbon bindings of the original deeds.
"Be careful, Jules," Clara whispered as I prepared to slip back into the wall passage. "If the guards hear you down there..."
"They won't," I assured her, squeezing Leo's small hand. "Leo, stay with Clara. Tomorrow night, you will see your mother again."
Leo nodded bravely. "Bring Uncle Arthur back too."
"I will."
Sliding through the hidden closet panel once more, I descended the dusty wooden ladder leading down to the library's false fireplace flue. Releasing a silent spring latch, the back stone panel of the library fireplace swung inward just enough for me to slip into the pitch-black room.
The smell of expensive cigar smoke and old leather hung heavy in the air.
Using my torch on its lowest setting, shielded by my palm, I glided soundlessly across the Persian rug toward the mahogany desk.
There lay the leather-bound bundle of original deeds, right beside the silver lighter. Marcus had left them out, intending to burn them in the fireplace the following morning.
My hands shook slightly as I picked up the original documents. The paper was dry and brittle, carrying the faint, faded seal of the Provincial Land Office from twenty-five years ago. I quickly flipped to the signature page.
There it was: Thomas Vance—Arthur’s father’s clean, precise signature—stamped beside a red wax seal that read FORCIBLY ANNEXED. Below it was Marcus Sterling’s signature as the witnessing notary.
This single document proved that the entire Sterling fortune was built on extortion and murder, giving Marcus the ultimate motive to eliminate anyone who questioned the estate's origins.
Slipping the authentic deeds into my satchel, I placed Arthur’s forged bundle in their exact position on the desk, arranging the silver lighter right beside it.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside!
CLICK.
The brass door handle began to turn.
Panicked, I ducked beneath the massive mahogany desk just as the heavy oak doors swung open.
A bright beam of flashlight swept across the room. It was one of Marcus’s gray-suited guards, conducting his midnight rounds. The light danced over the bookshelf, swung across the fireplace, and hovered over the desk—resting directly on the forged bundle of papers.
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I held my breath, pressing my back against the inner mahogany wood, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs.
The guard took three slow, heavy steps into the room. His leather boots stopped inches from where my fingers clutched the carpet.
