Chapter 7 - The Mountain Sanctuary
The mountain retreat of Sterling & Vance was a sprawling compound of dark timber and reinforced glass, perched precariously on a cliff side overlooking a deep, pine-forested gorge. A storm was raging across the peaks, howling through the tall firs and driving sheets of freezing rain against the cedar shingles.
Inside the grand living room, a massive stone fireplace crackled with burning birch logs, casting warm, dancing orange shadows across the leather armchairs and polished hardwood floor.
Arthur Vance sat in a high-backed leather chair, a crystal tumbler of scotch resting in his hand. At sixty-two, Arthur looked the picture of old money—distinguished gray hair, a manicured beard, wearing a heavy cashmere cardigan. He was staring into the fire, a subtle, satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he listened to the news report on the flat-screen TV above the mantle detailing the "tragic domestic incident" at the corporate headquarters.
The heavy front door clicked open. Cold wind and spray from the storm swept into the foyer.
Arthur turned his head, his smirk fading slightly. "Who's there? I told the staff I wasn't to be disturbed—"
Julian stepped out of the shadows of the foyer.
He wore a dark wool coat, completely soaked from the rain outside. Water dripped from the hem of his coat onto the rug. His face was pale, his eyes hollow and dark, shining with an unholy intensity in the firelight. In his right hand, he carried a heavy, sealed manila folder.
Arthur’s eyes widened slightly, but he quickly recovered, putting on a face of warm, paternal concern.
"Julian!" Arthur exclaimed, standing up and setting his scotch on the side table. "My God, boy, what are you doing out here in this storm? I heard about what happened at the office... it’s dreadful. Absolutely dreadful. How is little Lily? How is Sarah?"
Julian didn't answer. He walked slowly across the wide living room, his heavy boots making a dull, wet sound against the floor. He stopped three feet from his uncle, looking down at the older man with a face carved from ice.
"They're alive, Arthur," Julian said softly.
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"Thank God," Arthur sighed, shaking his head. "Victoria was always unstable, Julian. I told your father years ago that bringing her into this family was a mistake. She belonged in a hospital."
"She did," Julian agreed. He raised his right hand and tossed the manila folder onto the leather chair where Arthur had been sitting. "And so do the men who gave her the key to my floor."
