Chapter 6 - The Phantom IP
The digital footprint didn't lead to a server farm in Zurich or an anonymous proxy network in the Caymans. It led straight to the guest suite on the third floor of the estate—a room that had supposedly been vacant since Arthur’s hasty departure forty-eight hours ago.
I stared at the glowing terminal on the mahogany desk, the blinking cursor mocking the absolute silence of the house.
Miller leaned over my shoulder, adjusting his glasses. “That’s impossible, Ms. Vance. The security logs show that the master circuit for the third floor was shut down when Mr. Bennett left. No one has logged onto the local router since Friday night.”
“The security logs can be manipulated by anyone with root access to the master panel,” I said, rising from the chair. “And who installed the master panel when we remodeled the estate three years ago? Richard’s cousin, Julian.”
Julian Vance. The quiet, background player of the family—the tech-savvy architect who always stayed out of the boardroom brawls, preferring to build digital infrastructure while Arthur and Richard handled the public plunder. For years, everyone treated Julian like harmless wallpaper, a quiet designer who kept to himself. But looking at the active terminal, I realized he hadn't been hiding in the background. He had been quietly writing the master key to everything.
I motioned for Miller to stay put and walked out of the study, my heels clicking sharply against the corridor floor.
The stairs to the third floor creaked under my weight, the air growing noticeably colder as I ascended past the gallery of portraits. When I reached the heavy oak door of the guest suite, it wasn't locked. It was cracked open by an inch, a faint line of yellow light spilling out onto the Persian rug.
I pushed the door open without knocking.
Julian sat at a sleek aluminum workstation setup that had been smuggled into the room under the guise of architectural drafting equipment. Multiple monitors cast a harsh, blue glow across his sharp, unblinking features. He didn't look startled by my entrance; he didn't even turn his head away from the code scrolling down his primary screen.
“I wondered how long it would take you to look past Richard’s tantrums,” Julian said, his voice smooth and entirely devoid of the panic that had consumed his uncle and cousin.
“You’ve been running the Zurich trust from inside the house,” I said, closing the door behind me and keeping my voice level. “You didn't just help Richard draft the restructuring scheme three years ago. You set up the trapdoor that let you siphon the land titles out from under both of us.”
Julian finally turned his chair around, steepling his fingers under his chin. A small, polite smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Hardly a trapdoor, Clare. Think of it more as an insurance policy. Uncle Arthur always treated the family like a corporation where he was CEO and everyone else was an expendable asset. Richard thought he was the heir apparent. But neither of them ever understood that the real value of Bennett Crest wasn't the concrete or the steel. It was the land data.”
May you like
“And you think holding the Boston parcel gives you leverage over me?” I asked, stepping closer. “The board is dissolved, the old subsidiaries are frozen, and your uncle is currently sitting in a midtown hotel wondering how his credit cards stopped working.”
“Arthur is irrelevant,” Julian replied softly, standing up. He reached into his jacket pocket and slid a small, vintage gold pocket watch onto the desk. It was my father’s watch—the one that had gone missing the night our family firm was dismantled twenty years ago. “And so is Richard. But you and I, Clare? We have unfinished business with the people who actually pulled the strings back then.”
