Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN WHO STOLE A HOME
Victoria returned to the estate two days later.
Not to apologize.
To demand compensation.
She arrived with an attorney and a carefully prepared statement claiming Julian had humiliated her publicly.
Julian met her in his office.
I wasn't present.
But Evelyn later told me what happened.
Victoria demanded a financial settlement.
Julian asked about the forged property documents.
Her attorney advised her not to answer.
Julian then asked why she'd moved Evelyn into the boathouse.
Victoria insisted it was a temporary renovation decision.
Julian placed photographs on the table.
The damp storage room.
The portable heaters.
The boxes of family belongings left beside the dock.
Victoria's face changed.
Julian said:
"My mother was sleeping above a boat engine while you entertained guests in her home."
Victoria looked away.
Then Julian placed another document before her.
An invoice.
From an antique dealer.
The brass bed had not been donated.
It had been sold.
For eighty-six thousand dollars.
Victoria stared.
Julian asked:
"Where did the money go?"
She said nothing.
He leaned forward.
"Because if it went into an account connected to Carter, my attorneys will find it."
Victoria's hands began shaking.
Within a week, investigators discovered the bed had been transferred through an antique dealer connected to Carter's business associates.
The transaction became part of a broader inquiry into the forged property documents.
Julian recovered the bed through a negotiated return arranged by counsel.
When it arrived, Evelyn cried.
She ran her trembling fingers over the brass headboard.
"Your father polished this himself," she whispered.
I stood beside her.
Julian watched from the doorway.
Then Evelyn turned toward him.
"Thank you, sweetheart."
Julian crossed the room and hugged her.
For a long time, neither spoke.
That evening, he found me in the hallway.
"Clara."
I turned.
"Yes, sir?"
He looked tired.
"Thank you for protecting my mother."
I shook my head.
"I only did what anyone should have done."
Julian studied me.
"Not everyone did."
I didn't know what to say.
Then he asked:
"How's your brother?"
I froze.
He noticed.
"You don't have to answer."
I swallowed.
"He's still fighting."
Julian nodded.
May you like
"I hope he wins."
For some reason, those simple words meant more than any expensive gift could have.
