The Call to Julian

The FBI Director. At the St. Clair Gala. It was like finding out the arsonist was the fire chief. It explained the jurisdiction fight, the state trooper blockade, the sudden and convenient paralysis of the law. Victoria wasn't just wealthy; she was connected to the vascular system of power.

"We can't go to the Gala," Rossi said, starting the car. "The perimeter will be tighter than the White House. Facial recognition, metal detectors, dogs."

"And if we don't go?" Elena asked. "Victoria leaves the country. She takes the children. And she buries Sebastian so deep no one ever finds him."

She looked at the phone. Marcus's message was still on the screen.

"We need to call Julian," she said.

"He's in custody," Rossi said. "His phone is in an evidence bag."

"Not his cell," Elena said. "His burner. The one he used to call me when I was at the asylum."

"He has a burner?"

"He's a St. Clair," Elena said bitterly. "They all have burners."

She dialed the number from memory. It was the date of their first date, followed by the year he proposed. Julian wasn't creative with numbers, just with the truth.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Then, a click.

"Hello?"

The voice was slurred, thick with alcohol. Julian.

"It's me," Elena said. "Don't hang up."

"Elena?" A rustle of fabric. "Where are you? Arthur said you were in custody."

"I escaped," she said. "Julian, listen to me. Arthur isn't your lawyer. He's your uncle."

Silence on the line. Then a laugh. A dry, humorless sound.

"My uncle? That's rich. Even for you."

"His mother was Sarah Pendelton," Elena said, reading from the notes Marcus had sent. "She sued your grandfather for paternity support in 1965. It was settled out of court. Sealed."

"That's impossible," Julian said, but his voice wavered. "Arthur has been with the family since before I was born. He's... he's the help."

"He's the bloodline, Julian. Thomas was his brother. You and Sebastian... you're his nephews. He created you."

"Stop it," Julian whispered. "Just stop."

"Why do you think he protects the estate so fiercely?" Elena pressed. "Why do you think he keeps the secrets? It's not loyalty. It's inheritance. If the main line dies out... if you die... who gets the vineyard?"

"The trust goes to the children," Julian said.

"And who controls the trust if the mother is incapacitated and the grandmother is deemed unfit due to age or scandal?"

Julian didn't answer. The silence stretched, heavy and cold.

"Arthur is the executor," Elena said. "Isn't he?"

"Yes," Julian breathed. "He drafted the will himself."

"He's using you, Julian," she said. "He used Thomas. He used Sebastian. And now he's using you to get to the children. Once Victoria is gone... once she takes them to Switzerland... do you think you'll ever see them again?"

"She's my mother."

"She's his pawn," Elena said. "And so are you."

"What do you want me to do?" Julian asked. He sounded like a child lost in the dark.

"I need you to get me into the Gala."

"I can't. I'm under house arrest. There's an agent at the door."

"You're Julian St. Clair," Elena said. "This is your house. Your vineyard. Your legacy. Are you going to let the help take it from you?"

She heard the clink of a bottle against a glass. Then the sound of liquid pouring.

"The service tunnel," Julian said. "In the old cellar. The one where we used to hide the cheap wine."

"It's blocked," Elena said. "I checked."

"Not that one," Julian said. "The one that goes to the grotto. It comes out behind the bandstand."

Elena closed her eyes. The grotto. She had forgotten about the grotto.

"Is it open?"

"It should be," Julian said. "But there's a keypad."

"What's the code?"

"It's the date you broke your hand," Julian said. "The day you signed the marriage license."

Elena felt a pang in her chest. He remembered.

"Thank you," she said.

"Don't thank me," Julian said, his voice hardening. "Just promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"When you take him down... make sure he stays down."

"I will," Elena said.

She hung up.

Rossi was looking at her. "We're going to the Gala?"

"We're going to the grotto," Elena said. "And we're going to crash a party."

Silence. Then: 'Arthur is the executor of my will.'