Chapter 9 - The Trap Closes
Julian paused, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "The pantry? Why would Rachel move it to the pantry? It was supposed to go directly to the cellar freezer."
He turned toward the wooden pantry door situated at the far end of the kitchen island.
"Is Rachel still downstairs?" Julian asked, taking two steps toward the pantry. "We need to move fast, Victoria. The bank manager is expecting these signed transfer forms by eleven o'clock. Once we register these, the trust assets will be shifted to the Swiss accounts before anyone even realizes the real Nora is missing."
He reached out, his fingers gripping the brass handle of the pantry door.
"You really should have checked the references of your hired help, Julian," Nora’s voice echoed behind him.
Julian froze. Something about the cadence of the voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It lacked the subtle, studied hesitation that Victoria had spent eighteen months perfecting. It carried an ancient, crushing weight of absolute authority.
Slowly, Julian turned his head back toward the dining table.
Nora stood up from her chair. She reached into her cream cardigan pocket, pulled out a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses, and slipped them onto her nose with practiced ease—a habit Victoria had never managed to replicate without looking forced.
"What... what are you talking about?" Julian stammered, his confident posture beginning to sag.
"Victoria is in the pantry, Julian," Chloe said, her voice dripping with pure disgust as she stepped away from the window. "Bound, gagged, and bleeding from a concussion."
Julian’s breath caught violently in his throat. His face drained of all color, turning a sickly, translucent white. He looked from Chloe to the woman standing at the head of the table, his eyes wide with horror as the truth slammed into him like a freight train.
"Nora..." Julian choked out. "You... you're..."
"I am Nora Saint-Martin," the elderly woman said coldly, walking slowly toward him. "And you, Julian, are a pathetic, incompetent amateur."
Julian panicked. Instinct took over. He dropped his leather briefcase, turned violently toward the rear exit, and lunged for the heavy oak door.
He grabbed the handle, throwing his weight against it, but the door refused to budge.
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Nora pulled a heavy iron key from her pocket, holding it up into the sunlight where it glinted mockingly.
"I locked the service door the moment you drove up the driveway, Julian," Nora said softly. "There is no escape from this room."
