Chapter 9 - The Collision at 4th Street
The rain returned on Friday evening, turning the asphalt outside the 4th Street studio into a slick, dark mirror.
Claire had come back to collect the last of her stretching frames from the old building. She had left her car two blocks away, her boots splashing through the puddles as she carried a heavy wooden crate toward the trunk.
As she pushed open the heavy front door of the old studio, she realized something was wrong.
The padlock she had installed on Tuesday was lying on the concrete floor, split neatly down the metal shackle as if it had been sheared off with a hydraulic cutter.
Claire froze in the doorway.
The studio inside was dark, save for the amber streetlamp glowing through the tall north windows. In the center of the room, standing beside the empty workbench where her canvas had been, was Nathan.
He wasn't wearing his coat. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his hair disheveled, his hands empty.
"You shouldn't have come back here, Claire," he said, his voice dangerously soft, echoing off the high tin ceiling.
Claire didn't move her hand from the door handle. "Get out, Nathan. The police are already aware you're in violation of the restraining order."
Nathan let out a dry, humorless laugh. He turned around slowly, his eyes bright and unmoored in the dim light. "The police? Claire, do you really think a piece of paper from family court is going to stop what's coming? Julian didn't just file civil fraud papers. He cleaned out my corporate accounts this morning. Everything. The bank accounts, the lines of credit, the deposits on the West District project."
"Because they weren't yours," Claire said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline hammering in her chest. "You stole them."
"I built them!" Nathan shouted, the sound cracking as he stepped toward her. "I spent five years building those networks while Julian was sitting in his glass tower in Boston pretending he was above the family business!"
He stopped ten feet away from her, his chest heaving, his face twisted into an expression of desperate, frantic fury.
"You think he cares about you, Claire? You think you're his new project? You're just a crowbar. He's using you to pry open every door I ever locked so he can take over the entire portfolio."
"He gave me the lease to a safe office," Claire said, holding her ground. "He helped me protect my grandmother's building."
"Because he owns the mortgage on this entire block!" Nathan screamed, the truth finally breaking through the thin veneer of his composure like glass shattering under a hammer. "He bought the debt from the municipal bank three months ago! Every square foot of this property—your studio, the diner, the entire block—belongs to Vance Holdings. He didn't rescue you, Claire. He bought the building out from under both of us!"
Claire felt the room tilt violently beneath her feet.
The door handle slipped in her damp palm.
"What?" she whispered.
Before Nathan could answer, the heavy front door behind her swung open with a slow, deliberate creak.
Julian stood in the doorway, rain dripping from the brim of his dark coat, his face expressionless in the shadows.
May you like
"It's time to go, Nathan," Julian said.
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