Chapter 5
Arthur walked slowly into the room, his heavy boots leaving faint dust marks on the pristine Persian rug that Richard had bought at an auction in Geneva. He didn't look at the expensive art on the walls or the crystal decanters lined up on the sideboard. Instead, he pulled a thick, leather-bound ledger from beneath his arm and laid it squarely in the center of the mahogany table, right where Richard had been looming moments before. "You bought a plot, all right," Arthur said calmly, stopping a few feet away from the younger man. "An empty box filled with bricks to satisfy the probate court while you liquidated my father’s lumber company and put my name on the forged deeds." Beatrice stared at the leather book, her breath catching in her throat. "Arthur? Is that really you? They told me..." She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence under the weight of her son-in-law's steady gaze. Arthur glanced briefly at the elderly woman, his expression softening just a fraction, though the hardness in his jaw remained. "They told you what Richard needed you to believe, Beatrice. It was easier to mourn a ghost than to look for a brother who was rotting in a state facility three counties over, recovering from a fall he didn't take by choice." Elena stepped around the table and walked to Arthur’s side, letting her shoulder brush against his canvas jacket. The physical contact seemed to anchor them both, a quiet alliance forged in the wreckage of a family built on theft. Richard tried to regain his footing, adjusting his tie with trembling fingers as he attempted to marshal a shred of his former authority. "You have no proof," Richard snapped, though his voice lacked any real conviction. "The statutes of limitations have run out. The courts validated the transfer of assets ten years ago."
