Chapter 13 - The Shadow in the Blueprint
The interrogation room at the precinct smelled of old coffee, stale floor wax, and decades of quiet desperation.
Julian sat across the metal table from me, his throat still wrapped in thick white gauze from where the intubation tube had scraped his windpipe. He looked smaller, frail, stripped of the arrogant bluster that usually accompanied his expensive suits and inherited wealth.
"You tried to kill my son," I said quietly, leaning forward until my forearms rested on the cold metal surface.
Julian flinched, his hand trembling as he reached for a paper cup of water. "I didn't know... Clara said it was just a laxative! She just wanted to ruin your party, Leo! She wanted you to humiliate yourself in front of the neighbors so you'd pack up and leave town!"
"A laxative," I repeated, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "And you were fine with giving that to a seven-year-old boy?"
"I didn't think it would do *that*!" Julian hissed, his voice cracking into a pathetic whine. "She told me it was a harmless prank. She’s obsessed with you, Leo. Don't you get it? Ever since our father left you that plot of land instead of her, she’s been losing her mind. She thinks this house belongs to her by birthright."
I stood up, adjusting my jacket cuffs. I didn't feel anger anymore; that fire had burned down to cold, heavy embers years ago. What remained was absolute, crystalline clarity.
"Your wife is currently in the interrogation room down the hall, Julian," I said, looking down at him with an expression of profound pity. "She’s blaming the whole thing on you. Says you mixed the drink yourself because you were jealous of my successful career as an independent architect."
Julian’s jaw dropped. "She... she what?"
"She’s throwing you under the bus, Julian. Just like she threw me under the bus five years ago when she embezzled from the firm and pinned it on my designs." I turned toward the door, my hand resting on the heavy steel handle. "Good luck with your marriage. Hope your new foundation holds up better than your alibis."
As the heavy metal door clicked shut behind me, I pulled out my phone and dialed Marcus.
"Is it done?" I asked.
May you like
"Just pulled the municipal records from the county clerk’s office," Marcus’s voice crackled through the speaker. "The deed transfer Clara forced your father to sign on his deathbed? It was notarized by a guy whose license expired six months prior. Leo... the house was legally yours the day he died. She knew it all along."
***
