Chapter 3: Shadows in the Mahogany Study
The rain had turned into a steady, gray mist by the time Julian's car crunched up the gravel drive of the Moretti estate. The mansion loomed against the predawn sky like a sleeping beast, its slate roof gleaming wetly under the security lights. We didn't use the front entrance. Julian led me around the side terrace, unlocking the heavy French doors that led directly into the conservatory.
Brutus bounded ahead the moment Julian clicked the remote to lower the partition in the car, his claws clicking softly on the marble tiles before he slowed to match my pace. He walked like a ghost beside me, his spiked collar making no sound as we slipped down the dark hallway toward the study.
"Stay by the door," Julian whispered, handing me a small penlight before he dropped to his knees in front of the mahogany desk. His fingers moved with practiced speed over the carved molding beneath the kneehole, pressing a hidden spring that I had never noticed my father use. A secret cedar panel clicked open, revealing a stack of heavy linen-paper folders tied with faded red ribbon.
"Found it," Julian breathed, pulling the top folder free. He angled his own penlight over the pages, his eyes scanning the signatures with terrifying intensity. "God in heaven... they forged the transfer dates. This isn't just a corporate coup. This is a complete asset strip backed by my own senior partners."
A floorboard groaned in the outer hallway.
Brutus stiffened instantly, his head snapping toward the heavy double doors. A low, vibrating growl rose in his chest, so deep it rattled the teacups on the side table. Julian dropped the folder back into the secret compartment, shoved the panel shut with his palm, and stood up in a single fluid motion, positioning himself directly between me and the entrance.
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The brass handle of the study door turned with a slow, agonizing squeak. A sliver of yellow hallway light cut across the Persian rug as the door pushed inward an inch, revealing the polished black shoe and gray trouser leg of someone who had no business being in the house at four in the morning.
Julian didn't shout this time. He didn't order anyone back. He simply reached behind his back, his fingers hooking into the heavy leather of Brutus's spiked collar, holding the massive animal back like a coiled spring ready to break its tether.
