Chapter 7: Whispers in the Hall
Ten minutes later, I walked down the grand staircase, stepping carefully over the exact spot where I had stood earlier that evening. The house was dead silent, save for the grandfather clock ticking heavily in the lower foyer. I carried a blank sheet of printer paper instead of the school forms, banking on the dim lighting and my uncle's arrogance to keep him from inspecting the paper too closely.
As I approached the double doors of the main study, a murmur of voices drifted through the heavy mahogany panels. I stopped, pressing my shoulder against the cool white molding of the hallway archway.
"The probate judge is practically in our pocket," Richard’s voice rang out, sharp and triumphant. "Once Clara signs the release, the foundation assets transfer directly to the holding company. By Monday, the four million won't even show on the audit trail."
"And the boy?" That was Marcus’s voice, lower, laced with a cold caution. "He’s quieter than his mother. I found him in his room earlier. He looked... restless. I don't think he trusts us."
A heavy sigh echoed from inside the room, followed by the clink of crystal against wood as Richard poured a drink. "Trust is for fools, Marcus. He's fourteen. Give him a new video game, a trust fund allowance, and he'll forget all about his grandfather's eccentricities. If he proves stubborn, well, we simply manage his custody. Clara won't fight us; she hasn't got the spine for a legal war."
My fists clenched inside my pockets, my fingernails digging painfully into my palms. They were talking about me like I was a piece of furniture, a minor obstacle to be brushed aside on their way to millions of stolen dollars. My mother was trapped downstairs in the east wing, exhausted and medicated by grief, completely unaware that her own brother-in-law was treating her like a hostage.
I pushed away from the wall and stepped into the study without knocking.
Richard sat behind the massive mahogany desk, a glass of amber whiskey in his hand. Marcus stood by the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest. Both of them turned their heads in unison, their expressions shifting instantly from conspiratorial ease to cool authority.
"I couldn't find the school forms," I said, keeping my voice remarkably steady. "I'll look for them in the morning."
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Richard set his glass down with a sharp clink, staring at me across the polished wood. "Tomorrow morning, Leo, we have lawyers arriving at nine sharp. Make sure you're dressed properly. No more hiding in your room."
"Yes, Uncle Richard," I whispered, turning around and walking out before they could see the fury burning in my eyes.
