Chapter 8 - Echoes of the Past
The heavy oak front doors of the Ashworth estate stood slightly ajar as Julian strode into the grand foyer.
Standing on the threshold was not a federal agent, nor a regional syndicate capo. It was Eleanor Vance—Julian’s aunt and the matriarch of the older branch of the family, a woman whose diamond rings glittered even under the gray gray light of a stormy afternoon. Flanking her were two towering bodyguards in dark raincoats.
"Well, Julian," Eleanor said, stepping uninvited into the foyer, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. "I hear the estate has been quite... lively over the last twenty-four hours. Federal raids, cousins hauled off in handcuffs, betrayals in the ledger room. Your father must be turning over in his grave."
Julian didn't blink. He kept his hands loose at his sides, his stance balanced and ready. "Eleanor. To what do I owe the displeasure of this visit? The Council meeting isn't for another three weeks."
"The Council meeting has been moved up," Eleanor replied, her voice as cold and sharp as polished steel. She swept past him toward the drawing room, not waiting for an invitation to make herself at home. "When the federal government seizes half the shipping manifests in Middle Tennessee, the rest of the board tends to get a little nervous. They sent me to inspect the books. And to see if you’re still fit to hold the chair."
Julian followed her into the drawing room, his face a mask of absolute granite. "The books are clean. Thomas and Marcus tried to engineer a hostile takeover using falsified federal warrants. They’re currently awaiting arraignment in a federal holding facility. If the Council has a problem with how I handled internal security, they can bring it up at the full assembly next month."
Eleanor turned around, her eyes flashing with a predatory intelligence that had kept her alive in the syndicate for forty years. "You think you’ve won, don't you, Julian? You cut off a diseased limb and think the body is healthy. But Thomas had backers in Memphis. Men who don't care about federal indictments or family loyalty. They care about profit margins and blood debts."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper. "They’re coming, Julian. And they won't give a damn about your locked gates or your Belgian Malinois."
Before Julian could answer, the heavy double doors of the drawing room swung wide open.
May you like
Rex trotted in from the hallway, moving with absolute, silent grace. He didn't growl. He didn't bare his teeth. He simply walked straight up to Eleanor, planted himself squarely between her and Julian, and let out a single, low, bone-shaking bark that vibrated through the floorboards.
Eleanor gasped, stumbling backward against the mahogany mantelpiece, her face draining of color.
