Chapter 4 - The Unwelcome Visitor
Neither of us moved. The brass lion’s knocker echoed through the cavernous foyer, followed by the sound of a key rattling aggressively in the front door lock.
“Are expecting company?” I whispered, standing up from the sofa.
“Nobody with a key,” Arthur growled, his face darkening with sudden rage. “Except for the vultures who think the carcass is already cold.”
Before I could reach the parlor doorway, the front door swung open with a loud crash. Footsteps—fast, heavy, and entirely uninvited—stomped across the hardwood floor of the foyer.
“Grandpa?” a smooth, confident male voice called out. “Are you awake in there, or do I need to call the paramedics again to haul you off to the home?”
I froze. The voice didn't belong to a debt collector or a lawyer.
It belonged to my nephew—Bradley’s cousin on his mother’s side, though he had always orbited our family like a slick, opportunistic satellite.
Julian.
Julian Vance—though he dropped the Vance part when it suited his social climbing in Columbus. He was thirty-two, wore expensive suits that smelled of cologne and cheap ambition, and spent most of his time trying to convince my father to sign over the remaining commercial deeds before the old man slipped into dementia.
Julian appeared in the parlor doorway, holding a stack of manila folders under his arm. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me standing by the fireplace.
His eyes widened in genuine shock.
“Aunt Eleanor?” Julian blinked, looking from me to my father, then down at the canvas suitcase sitting by the foyer entrance. “What in the world are you doing here? I thought you were living with Bradley in Ohio.”
“Bradley decided my expiration date had passed,” I said smoothly, stepping out from the shadows of the fireplace into the pale March light. “So I came home.”
Julian’s face hardened instantly, the polite family mask slipping to reveal the cold, predatory calculation underneath. He quickly recovered, flashing a slick, practiced grin that didn't reach his eyes.
“Home? Aunt Eleanor, let’s be realistic,” Julian laughed, stepping further into the room and tossing his folders onto the dining table. “Grandpa’s health is failing, the estate is tied up in millions of dollars of municipal back taxes, and this house is scheduled for a sheriff’s auction next month. You can’t live here. Nobody can live here.”
“That’s funny,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don't remember seeing your name on the property deed, Julian.”
Julian’s smile tightened. He turned his attention back to my father, ignoring me completely.
“Grandpa, we need to sign those transfer papers today,” Julian said, his voice dropping into a persuasive, oily register. “The investment firm in Cincinnati is ready to clear the municipal liens and buy out the property for cash. It’s the only way to save your credit before the foreclosure hits public record.”
Arthur didn't look at the folders. He looked directly at his grandson with undisguised contempt.
“Get out of my house, Julian,” the old man rasped.
Julian’s jaw tightened. “Grandpa, you’re not thinking clearly—!”
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“I said, get out,” Arthur repeated, raising his voice into a sharp, commanding bark that echoed off the high ceiling. “Before I call the police and have you arrested for trespassing and grand larceny.”
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