Chapter 10: Front Gate Security Lodge
Sheriff Vance stopped mid-stride, his hand hovering over the latch as I stepped out from the deep shadows of the stable overhang. The morning mist clung to my shoulders, and my grey button-down shirt was wrinkled from the long night in the tunnels, but I kept my posture rigidly upright. I had spent my entire life trying to blend into the background of this grand estate, but the time for quiet compliance was over.
"Morning, Julian," Vance said, his tone affectedly casual, though his eyes darted quickly toward the carriage house doors behind me. "Got an urgent call from Victor an hour ago. He tells me you've taken queer notions during the night, moving about the service wings with the child, disrupting the household staff."
"Victor has a very active imagination, Sheriff," I replied, closing the distance between us until I stood squarely on the gravel path, blocking his direct approach to the stables. "And an even more active set of master keys. He's been trespassing in our private quarters after midnight."
Vance frowned, resting a heavy hand on his leather holster. "Now look here, son. Victor is a respected administrator. He runs this estate by legal authority of the board of trustees. He filed a formal wellness check on the little girl, claiming you've been unstable since your father passed."
"Did he also file a report about the financial ledger missing from my father's safe?" I asked, my voice cutting sharply through the crisp morning air. "Or the fact that he and an associate were planning to have us committed to a private facility upstate by noon today?"
Vance blinked, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his weathered face before he quickly masked it behind an official scowl. "You've got no proof of such wild accusations, Julian. I'm here to ensure the child is safe and escort you both back to the main drawing room for a formal evaluation."
"I am not going anywhere with you, Vance, and I am certainly not going back to Victor," I said, my gaze locked onto the sheriff's eyes. "Unless you have a signed judicial warrant—not a phone call from an administrator—you are currently trespassing on private property and aiding an unlawful confinement."
The silence stretched between us, heavy and fraught with tension. Vance stared at me, perhaps seeing something in my posture that he hadn't expected—the sudden, sharp spine of a man who had finally decided to defend his home.
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"I'll need to speak with the girl myself," Vance said finally, shifting his weight. "To verify she's unharmed. Then we'll talk about warrants."
"She stays where she is," I replied coldly. "You want to talk to her, you do it right here in the open daylight."
