Chapter 4 - The Bloodline Doubt
Arthur snatched the wax-sealed envelope from Julian’s hand, his strong fingers trembling almost imperceptibly as he broke the red crest. He pulled out the aged parchment, his sharp eyes scanning the elegant handwriting of his late wife.
As his eyes moved down the page, his jaw clenched tighter and tighter.
Julian watched him intently, a cold satisfaction settling in his features. “She wrote it clearly, didn't she? Thomas didn't father a child before he died in that crash. Lily was brought into the Sterling estate six months after Thomas’s funeral.”
Arthur folded the letter slowly, slipping it into his navy suit pocket. His voice remained completely steady, though his eyes burned with an intense, dangerous heat. “Your mother was sick when she wrote this, Julian. Her mind was clouded by medication.”
“Was it?” Julian countered, leaning against the edge of the marble table. “Then why did you spent forty million dollars funding a private genetic research lab in Zurich three months after Thomas died? Why is that lab registered under a shell company with Lily’s birthdate as the access code?”
Lily sat quietly on the armchair, using her pink sleeve to wipe a smudge of white frosting from her chin. She looked at Arthur with big, bright-blue eyes that looked impossibly identical to the family portraits hanging along the grand staircase.
“Grandpa?” Lily asked innocently. “Is Uncle Julian mad at me?”
Arthur turned to the child, his fierce expression softening instantly into one of deep, protective tenderness. He walked over, picked up a clean linen napkin, and began gently wiping the remaining frosting from her golden curls.
“No, sweetheart,” Arthur whispered softly. “Uncle Julian is just confused.”
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He turned back to Julian, his voice laced with an unmistakable threat. “You think you’ve uncovered a grand conspiracy, Julian. But you are playing a game you don't understand. If you breathe a word of this letter to the board of directors before the annual gala on Friday, I will disinherit you completely.”
Julian smirked, unbothered by the threat. “You won't have to disinherit me, Father. Because by Friday, the lab in Zurich will deliver the original intake records directly to the press.”
